"Commissar."
"You're back. Sit, sit."
Ning Shan got up, went over to pour Wang Yan some tea, and said with a smile, "You've really worked hard this past year. You barely spent any time with the troupe—you were constantly running around outside. Tomorrow's New Year's Eve, and only now have you returned to the troupe."
Setting the tea before Wang Yan, Ning Shan continued, "The higher-ups are very satisfied with your performance and have given you full recognition. And this year, you wrote another good song. I heard from the higher-ups that it received praise from many leaders. And that book you wrote—you sent it to People's Literature, didn't you? They certainly had no problem with it, but they still contacted leaders from the General Political Department and the cultural authorities, asking them to review it before confirming publication.
"They also thought very highly of you. They said your book was well written, easy to understand without being dull. It captured how difficult it had been for us to come this far, and it portrayed those martyrs brilliantly. The leaders of the General Political Department also asked for your opinion. If you agreed, they wanted to transfer you to work there. What do you think?"
"I'm a soldier of our art troupe. I obey orders and follow command."
"I knew I hadn't misjudged you."
Ning Shan nodded in satisfaction. "When the leaders of our Political Department asked me, that was exactly how I answered. I turned them down flat. The higher-ups said your outstanding contributions had to be recognized; they couldn't let the comrades feel disheartened. So after discussion, they decided to promote you to deputy company rank. The higher-ups also said they'd try to secure you a place at the Military and Political University. You'll go for a year