Chapter 7: Devotion to Father

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The second floor of the supply cooperative was entirely reserved for drivers and workers on duty to rest; as soon as one ascended, a strong, musty odor filled the air. The building was not a standard corridor apartment, but a single-sided structure, with the corridor railings built of brick. The middle of the surrounding wall was not solid, but instead formed of bricks arranged in various patterns.

Locating the dormitory belonging to Tian Qingping’s elder brother, Liu Yimin tiptoed up; the key was tucked in a corner atop the doorframe, and he found it easily by reaching up. Pushing open the door, he saw a space of about twenty square meters—a communal sleeping area, with wardrobes and toiletries opposite the beds.

A quick glance was enough for Liu Yimin to spot Tian Qinglin’s bunk, for atop it, Tian Qinglin had left him a note wishing him luck in the college entrance exam.

“Let’s hope there aren’t any flea lords lurking in the bedding!” Liu Yimin muttered as he set down his schoolbag.

Fleas, rampant in rural areas, often kept Liu Yimin awake at night, leaving his arms and legs dotted with red marks. He flipped through the quilt but found no sign of the pests.

Taking advantage of the sunlight, he hung the quilt over the corridor railing to air it out. Sniffing his vest, he caught a strong odor of sweat and decided to wash up; otherwise, the sticky feeling would be unbearable.

Moreover, when reading, he couldn’t help but manufacture “stretch-and-stare pills” in bulk.

Every floor of the building had a communal bathroom; the pungent smell at the entrance was unmistakable—the same odor Liu Yimin had encountered earlier. The bathroom was a trench-style latrine: a long water channel divided into small squares by set dimensions, with a half-height wall on the side. Squatting there, people looked like a string of grasshoppers pulled together by a rope.

At one end of the channel was a water tank, scheduled to flush the trench periodically, while the other end connected to a septic tank. Such latrines were common in northern regions; even in the early years of the twenty-first century, many schools still had these.

Outside, a row of taps awaited. Liu Yimin twisted three in succession, all broken, but the fourth finally released water. He wiped himself down with a towel, scrubbing off the coal dust, and returned to the dormitory refreshed, picking up his books to resume reading.

There had been no reply from "People’s Literature and Art." Had his manuscript not been accepted? The thought left Liu Yimin agitated. He made up his mind: if all else failed, after the college entrance exam, he would pay tribute with another submission—a novel of scar literature, sure to be published.

Over the past decade, the literary world had been eager to cultivate new writers, though nurturing talent could not happen overnight; improving the quality of literary works would take time.

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Early the next morning, Liu Yimin rode his bicycle, grabbing a quick meal at a street stall before heading toward the examination venue. The morning breeze brushed lightly against his face; though the sun had not yet risen, he could sense the burgeoning vitality waiting behind the clouds. He smiled at everything he encountered, feeling that, at this moment, everything brimmed with hope.

As he neared the entrance to No. 1 Middle School, the crowd thickened. A dense mass of people converged in front of the high school gate; every examinee held a book, reciting as they walked. The collective murmuring, like the buzzing of mosquitoes, transformed the entrance into the likeness of a modern high school’s early morning reading session.

Above the gate hung a banner for the event. Beneath it stood militia members, armed and stern, red armbands on their sleeves, their expressions grave as they surveyed the crowd. Nearby, several teachers stood, anxiously checking the time and conversing excitedly.

“In just a few months, the state has held the college entrance exam twice. This shows the nation’s determination to select talent! I truly feel excited and proud for these examinees. We never had the chance to take the exam ourselves, and who would have thought, in our lifetime, we could witness such a significant historical event? Our hopes are finally being realized in these children.”

A teacher in a dark Zhongshan suit, with short hair, could not contain his excitement. He removed his glasses, breathed on them, wiped them carefully with a handkerchief, then put them back on and looked toward the examinees, as if wanting to imprint this scene in his memory.

“Yes, the state has made a huge decision. I heard that for last year’s first exam, there was no paper for printing the test, so they used Mao’s Selected Works to print the papers!”

“But the university acceptance rate is far too low. Who knows if anyone from our county will make it this year?” another teacher sighed.

“If just one from our school gets in—even to a technical college—it would make us famous throughout the county! Teacher Liu, you’re in charge of the graduating class; do you think there’s hope?”

“It’s difficult! Graduates from previous years didn’t study seriously, being busy with big-character posters and school closures. Most of their time at school was spent in agricultural and industrial labor. However, the current year’s students are somewhat better prepared than those who graduated several years ago. Then there are the ‘Old Three Classes’—the students from those years studied for several years; as long as they review earnestly, there’s still hope.”

The “Old Three Classes” referred to the students of 1966, 1967, and 1968, both junior and high school. When the decade-long upheaval erupted, the 1966 cohort, meant to graduate, did not, and in 1968, six graduating classes finished together—a phenomenon unparalleled in history, causing a massive employment crisis.

Thus, the “Old Three Classes” were almost all sent to the countryside as educated youth. These high school students grew alongside the Republic, witnessing major historical events since the founding of the nation.

They were also the most capable; the 1966 high schoolers had attended five years of high school, giving them an unmatched advantage in the college entrance exam. Yet their fate was bittersweet—those who failed to get into university and returned to the city faced age discrimination in recruitment.

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Beside Liu Yimin stood a middle-aged man, accompanied by a woman holding a child, the child appearing to be in his early teens.

An old woman nearby asked in confusion, “Is this young one here to take the college entrance exam?”

“No, it’s my father who’s taking the exam!” the boy replied with a smile.

“Yes, this is my son, fourteen or fifteen years old. I’m older than the ‘Old Three Classes.’ This year’s exam notice says that self-taught and talented youths in society can apply, so I refuse to give up. Going to university is my dream—I want to give it a try; maybe I’ll get in!” the man said, laughing.

“Dad, you’ll definitely get in! If you do, I’ll be the son of a college student—and I’ll become a city dweller someday!” The boy’s words amused Liu Yimin; truly, a son striving for his father’s success, putting all his hopes in him!

Beside the old lady stood a woman cradling a baby still nursing; she read a book while soothing the child.

“Eat a bit more; otherwise, if you go in for the exam, the child will be left hungry!”

Liu Yimin’s eyes widened in astonishment—was this possible?