Chapter 51 Zhu Lin (Seeking Your Continued Reading)

As soon as Cui Daoyi thought about it, he realized it was true—if the news got out, never mind anyone else, even Zhou Yanru from "Yanjing Literature and Art" would have rushed over by now. Zou Huofan walked in, picked up the manuscript on the table, glanced over the general plot, and smiled at Cui Daoyi, "Looks like another excellent piece!"

"Of course! When has our Yanda Chinese Department ever let anyone down? I heard Yimin even wrote you a poem yesterday—now we're even. Room 306 is for both of us."

Zou Huofan replied coolly, "How can you compare the two? How many words are in a poem, and how many in a novel?"

"Hey, old Zou, you’re really greedy! Are you hoping Yimin will write you a poem of tens of thousands of words? Besides, a poem only fetches a few yuan—at most, not even a hundred. Whenever our editorial department pays Yimin, it’s always two or three hundred!"

These words struck a chord with Liu Yimin: poetry brings fame quickly, but novels bring money quickly.

Writing novels laced with poetry was a win-win!

"Novels take longer to write, require more effort, more paper and ink. It’s only right to pay more," Zou Huofan objected.

"Old Zou, you really think everyone’s inspiration comes as quickly as Yimin’s? For most, the time spent writing a novel or a poem isn’t much different."

Zou Huofan had no real rebuttal in the end. He stubbornly muttered something about how the value of a poet’s work couldn’t be measured in money.

Cui Daoyi walked away in high spirits—not only had he found an excellent manuscript on the very first day of October, but he’d also bested Zou Huofan in debate, leaving him speechless.

As he stepped out of the guesthouse, he was filled with energy...

After he left, Zou Huofan solemnly advised Liu Yimin, "Yimin, don’t listen to his nonsense. You know, I’ve only ever heard of people reciting poetry in the streets, never someone reciting a novel. Novels just don’t spread as fast as poetry."

Liu Yimin nodded—yes, yes, you’re both right!

Not long after Cui Daoyi left, Liu Yimin followed Zou Huofan to the editorial office of "Poetry Journal." The corridor leading to the office was lined with burlap sacks; Zou Huofan explained these were all submissions. At the other end of the corridor were marked sacks full of rejected manuscripts.

"Compared to novels, most people think the threshold for writing poetry is lower—just a few sighs and you’re a poet. That’s why 'Poetry Journal' receives far more submissions than 'People’s Literature.' Since our relaunch, the poems we’ve published have caused a huge stir in the country. Now, the submissions come in like snowflakes—many of them we can’t even get to in time," Zou Huofan explained.

"Looks like I was lucky—my submission didn’t get lost among all these letters."

"A needle in a sack will always show its point. Even if we missed your poem, other magazines wouldn’t have let it slip by. But these here, we’re not interested, and neither is anyone else!"

As Zou Huofan spoke, he led Liu Yimin into the editorial office, smiling as he introduced him to the staff. Many people greeted him right away.

"This is our editor-in-chief, Yan Chen, deputy editor Shao Yanxiang..."

"Hello, everyone!"

"A young man, a young poet—this is just what our literary world needs," Yan Chen said, shaking Liu Yimin’s hand with his right and patting his bicep with his left, praising him in front of the whole office.

Once introductions were made, Yan Chen smiled and asked Liu Yimin how he viewed the present and future of the world of poetry. The day before, Zou Huofan had shared some of Liu Yimin’s thoughts with the group, and everyone found his perspective insightful.

Thus came Yan Chen’s question today.

"Editor Yan, I’m really just showing off my meager skills before experts. You all know much more about the poetry world than I do; I’ve only analyzed recent issues of 'Poetry Journal'—the authors and their expressions. There are two kinds of poets now: some are young, and some have lived through the past decade or even since the founding of New China. Their creative philosophies are bound to differ, so conflict is inevitable."

The "Returning Poets" led by Ai Qing and the "Obscure Poets" represented by Bei Dao and Shu Ting were vying for dominance in the poetry scene of the 1980s. The term "Obscure Poets" itself was, in fact, coined as a critique by the older generation, who saw their work as "obscure, odd, and malformed."

In 1980, the eighth issue of "Poetry Journal" published "Suffocating Obscurity," and thus the Obscure Poets got their name.

Liu Yimin didn't elaborate further and shifted the conversation to the current poetry scene in Yanjing. His fellow townsman, Ge Luo, began describing the state of poetry there.

"Yimin’s assessment is spot-on. We all feel the same, but this is exactly what the policy of 'let a hundred flowers bloom, let a hundred schools of thought contend' is about. Bei Dao and Mang Ke will probably hear about your arrival in Yanjing soon—they’re eager to meet you. Right now, the Yanjing poetry world..."

...

In the Xidan district of Yanjing, inside a simply furnished yet impeccably tidy apartment, a scholarly-looking man sat on the sofa reading a magazine. Household electronics rarely seen in an ordinary home were present here.

In the living room and other rooms, every item was perfectly arranged. A wooden coat rack hung with a few garments and a freshly laundered white lab coat stood by the entrance—clearly, one of the residents was a doctor.

The man read the magazine with meticulous care, occasionally pausing to ponder a passage. If he came across a poor article, he would mutter a polite curse under his breath.

Turning the page, his eyes suddenly lit up. After reading for a long while, he called toward another room, "Linlin, there’s a great article in today’s 'People’s Literature!'"

A slightly weary, languid voice answered from the other room, "Dad, what’s it about?"

"It’s about the college entrance exam—it’s called 'The College Entrance Exam, 1977!'"

Inside, a girl studying medical texts rubbed her tired eyes without turning her head. "You go ahead, Dad. I didn’t get into college through the entrance exam—I’ll pass."

She gripped her fountain pen, marking anything she didn’t understand. Her fair fingers, reddened by the pressure of the pen, showed her diligence. Her name was Zhu Lin, a student at the Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences.

"It’s by Liu Yimin! Are you sure you don’t want to read it?"

The moment her father looked up, he saw his daughter already standing before him, her eyes fixed intently on the magazine in his hands.

"See, the name Liu Yimin works even better than your father’s. This is his third piece, isn’t it? He writes so fast! I’ve only read a few thousand words, but it’s excellent—come, let’s read it together."

"Dad, you’re wrong. Counting the poem, this is his fourth work. Did you forget 'A Generation' on the cover of 'Poetry Journal'? And he’s not just fast—he’s good!" As she spoke, Zhu Lin settled in to read, sunlight streaming through the mottled glass onto her long eyelashes.

As she read, she secretly pulled a milk candy from her pocket and popped it into her mouth.

Meanwhile, at the "Poetry Journal" office, Liu Yimin had just left when a group of people approached, calling out, "Comrade Liu Yimin, where are you?"