Chapter 77: Dancing Is My Greatest Joy (Thanks to the generous patron, "The World Is Mine")

Among the student body, publishing newspapers and magazines had become a trend. The journalism students had their own newspaper, and Liu Yimin reckoned that the words he’d just spoken would soon appear in print there.

Inside the classroom hosting the poetry gathering, students took turns stepping to the front to recite poetry. The literature club had even brought an amplifier with a wired microphone. There was a wide range of recitations, from original works to renowned classics.

“In the old days, when we were in exile, we often gathered like this, voices full of fiery passion. Some old comrades say that in recent years, young people are increasingly drawn to poems about love and romance. But wasn’t all our hard work for this very purpose—to let the young do what the young ought, to fall in love and speak of love? There’s nothing wrong with that,” said Zou Huofan, pointing to a young man in the center of the classroom reciting “The Alley in the Rain,” smiling as he spoke.

Seated nearby, Liu Yimin found it a bit too noisy and thought about leaving, but with Zou Huofan present, he felt awkward about making a move. He could only engage in idle chatter.

“I almost forgot—here’s the payment for your poem ‘Ideal.’ Old Yan read it and, without any prompting from me, paid you at the standard rate: seven yuan per thousand words for ten lines,” Liu Yimin said with a smile, slipping the payment into his pocket. With so many lines in “Ideal,” he’d pocketed over sixty yuan at that rate—no less than what others earned for a short novella. Clearly, breaking up the lines was a skill in itself.

The original version of “Ideal” was written mostly two lines per verse, separated by a comma. Liu Yimin simply replaced all the commas with line breaks, doubling the number of lines.

“Thanks!”

“No need to thank me—you should thank yourself!”

“How so?”

“You’ve got a thick skin. The way you broke up the lines made Old Yan’s eyebrows twitch, but in the end, he just said, ‘You young people really are clever.’” As Zou Huofan recalled the scene, he couldn’t help but laugh.

The subtext being: it took a young person’s nerve to pull a stunt like that. The older generation of poets wouldn’t have dared.

“Hello, friends from Yanda. I’m Zhu Lin from the National Academy of Traditional Medicine, and the poem I’ll be reciting is called ‘To the Oak Tree.’”

[If I love you,
Never will I cling to you like the trumpet creeper,
Using your high branches to show off my own glory...]

Liu Zhenyun nudged Liu Yimin, his voice low but tinged with excitement. “They’re here, it’s them!”

“Who?” Liu Yimin and Zou Huofan looked up together, just in time to see Zhu Lin glance their way. Their eyes met, and Zhu Lin lowered hers with a gentle smile, instantly warming the atmosphere in the classroom.

It really was her!

Liu Yimin gave her a slight nod, which made Zhu Lin, in the middle of her recitation, lose her composure for a moment and quickly turn her head away.

Zhu Lin’s roommates, meanwhile, were waving at Liu Yimin with all their might, holding up the gifts they’d brought, signaling him furiously.

“He looked over! He looked this way!”

“I wonder if he liked the cookies I gave him last time...”

When Zhu Lin finished reciting, she returned to the group, patting her chest with relief, her face flushed. Then Chu Hong went up as the second reciter. She smiled at Liu Yimin, saying, “I’ll be reading for everyone: ‘My Beloved Motherland’ by Comrade Liu Yimin.”

“You know each other?” Zou Huofan asked.

“Editor Zou, let me explain how this all started. You see, they’re all Yimin’s readers...” Liu Zhenyun and his two friends, having finally found a topic, drew Zou Huofan into conversation.

Li Xueqin and Chen Dazhi chimed in with their own stories. The four of them could rival Liu Yunsheng from the cultural center with their endless gossip.

Zou Huofan nodded along. This young man was something else, but who didn’t have a few female readers in their youth? In the world of literature, this was hardly unusual.

As their conversation continued, their true intentions became clear. Liu Zhenyun lowered his voice, “Editor Zou, I have a friend who wrote a poem he’d like to submit to our Poetry Journal. May I read it to you to see what you think?”

Li Xueqin added, “Editor Zou, I have a friend, too!”

“Who doesn’t have a friend? The one my friend wrote is pretty good, let me read it!” Chen Dazhi rolled up his sleeves.

When they finished reciting, Zou Huofan pressed his lips together and shook his head. Unfazed, they said, “No worries, I’ll pass your feedback to my friend.”

Zou Huofan didn’t call them out, only glanced at Liu Yimin, then at the other female students performing.

At seven in the evening, by the shores of Weiming Lake at Yanda, a sudden chill swept in with the wind.

Zhu Lin and Chu Hong, along with several roommates, happily handed Liu Yimin the gifts they’d brought—similar to last time. At Liu Yimin’s gesture, his three friends stepped up to accept them.

“Comrade Liu Yimin, did you like the cookies I made last time?” asked Liu Li, one of the roommates, as she clung to Chu Hong’s arm.

Liu Yimin glanced at the guilty-looking Liu Zhenyun. “They were delicious—very sweet!” he replied.

“Comrade Liu Yimin, could we have your autograph?” Chu Hong took a fountain pen from her bag and handed it to Liu Yimin. The other seven quickly followed suit, fishing out their own notebooks.

“Of course.” The cold metal of the pen made Liu Yimin shiver as he signed, then he hurriedly returned it to its case.

Noticing Old Zou standing nearby, hands clasped behind his back, glancing around, Liu Yimin smiled and said,

“This is Comrade Zou Huofan, our Poetry Journal’s first deputy editor-in-chief. Aren’t you going to ask him for an autograph? Who knows when you’ll get another chance!”

“Really?” Zhu Lin glanced at Zou Huofan, then quickly handed over her notebook and pen.

Old Zou smiled kindly at Zhu Lin, slowly accepted the pen, and wrote his name in her notebook. Then he glanced at Liu Yimin, as if to say, “You are a promising young man.”

When everyone was finished signing, Zhu Lin and her friends shook hands with Liu Yimin—their cold hands a reminder that it was time to part.

Mounting their bicycles, they had only ridden a dozen meters when Zhu Lin, pushing her bike, hurried back. “Comrade Liu Yimin, we’re having a dance at our school on the 5th of next month. My roommates would like to invite you to join us!”

“Of course, I’ll be there. I love to dance.”

“Really?”

“What kind of dance are you best at?”

“I’m best at stepping on toes!”

Zhu Lin paused for a moment, then burst out laughing, pushing her bicycle away. Her voice drifted back, “Comrade Liu Yimin, we’ll wait for you at the school gate at six in the evening!”

“Ah, youth is a wonderful thing. I should be going too! Yimin, next time don’t forget to visit the Poetry Journal. Let’s have another drink with Old Ma—he keeps insisting lately that last time wasn’t his limit!” Zou Huofan called as he left.

After Zou Huofan had gone, Liu Yimin stamped his cold, numb feet and said to his three friends, “Let’s go, time to eat!”

Liu Yimin tried one of the cookies, and looked at the others in surprise. No wonder Liu Li, who gave him the cookies, had looked so uneasy—the cookies were salty.

“Yimin, can we come to the dance too?”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate. It’s at the girls’ dormitory, and it’ll be all girls—you really shouldn’t come.”

Begging for votes—can I hit my goal of a thousand monthly votes? Gentlemen, everything must go!

The last chapter took ages to get approved. Sigh.