An Emotional Advice Blogger in 1979

After dinner.

The sunset clouds were beautiful that day, but there was no peaceful, idyllic life in the courtyard, only the petty bits and pieces of everyday life.

Inside, Chen Jianjun was repairing a fountain pen by the fading daylight, while Chen Qi helped Yu Xiuli wind yarn into balls. All three were quiet because their only household appliance-the radio-was playing Yuan Kuocheng's storytelling performance of Tracks in the Snowy Forest.

The old master hadn't yet started performing Romance of the Three Kingdoms at this point; all his storytelling performances were revolutionary tales.

What year was his adopted granddaughter born again?

I think it was 1987. That's still eight years away. I'll be twenty-seven by then, so the age gap's a bit big! Hey, her grandfather sang Xihe dagu, didn't he? Should I get acquainted with him, then take her as my adopted granddaughter too?

Come to think of it, Liu Shishi got prettier as she got older. Especially after she had a child, she had so much more charm than when she was young...

As Chen Qi wound the yarn, he grumbled to himself, his thoughts casually leaping across decades. Talk about quantum fluctuations.

When the storytelling ended, a health education program came on, followed by a replay of the day's news: "At the end of this month, the Ministry of Culture will hold an awards ceremony at the CPPCC Auditorium for outstanding films and outstanding young creators. These will be the second awards presented in the name of the government since 1956."

At this, Yu Xiuli suddenly perked up. She was an avid film fan. "Liu Xiaoqing will definitely get one!"

"And Tang Guoqiang definitely will too!"

"The films these past two years have all been good. Chen Chong and Li Xiuming are so pretty!"

"That Chen Peisi in Look at This Family is pretty funny too. Hey, I heard his dad is Chen Qiang?"

"You don't have to take anyone's word for it. He is."

"Wow, your Chen family sure keeps producing talented people!" Yu Xiuli said sarcastically.

Chen Qi was displeased. "Mom, you've hurt my pride."

"Oh, no, no, that's not what I meant. I wasn't talking about you."

Yu Xiuli hurriedly changed her tune, afraid of hurting her eldest son's pride as a tea seller.

"Is Chen Qi home?"

A shout came from outside. The voice alone told them it was Auntie Wang. She was like an NPC, dropping by from time to time with updates on the quest. She came in smiling. "Oh, the three of you are doing well. I need a word with the lad."

"What is it?"

"Nothing serious. I just need to tell him what's happening with the tea stall."

Chen Qi followed Auntie Wang outside. At the courtyard entrance, she pulled a long face and said, "Lad, I wasn't fobbing you off. I really did talk to the plastics factory. They're taking it seriously, and once they've discussed it, they'll definitely give you an answer."

"Discussed it?"

"Of course they have to hold a meeting and discuss it. You think they can just hand out punishment like that? What doesn't have to be discussed at a meeting? Don't be impatient. Wait another couple of days."

"All right, I'll wait a little longer. Thanks for the effort."

Auntie Wang was quite surprised. Why had the lad suddenly become so agreeable? She went on trying to persuade him. "Spare others when you can. If you ask me, a private apology to you all should settle it."

"Mm-hmm!"

Chen Qi gave a noncommittal reply, saw Auntie Wang off, and went back inside to continue winding yarn.

In the early hours of the morning.

The vast capital was still asleep, but some people were already busy.

At the entrance to the printing plant, under the glow of a few dim lamps, batches of freshly printed newspapers were loaded onto vehicles. Those going nearby were delivered to offices, institutions, and newspaper stands throughout the city; those going farther were sent to the outlying counties; and those going farther still were taken to the post and telecommunications office for delivery to other provinces.

One batch went to a newspaper stand in Xicheng.

Cao Yulan had gotten up very early, packed herself some dry rations, and headed to the knitting cooperative organized by the neighborhood office.

There were more than twenty young women in the cooperative, and their job was to knit sweaters by hand. Customers supplied the yarn, and they did the knitting. Business was good: in just a few days after opening, they had received more than sixty orders, far more than they could handle.

Cao Yulan came from an ordinary family and had an honest, straightforward nature. She did whatever the organization arranged for her and had always been diligent at work.

As the sky began to lighten, she came to an intersection.

The newspaper stand was already open, with People's x Daily, Guangming x Daily, and other papers laid out neatly. The women usually went to the neighborhood office to read the papers and rarely bought them, but a glance caught a large headline: "The road of life: how should we walk it?"

Hmm?

Cao Yulan stopped. The road of life? She had never thought about it.

As if compelled by some unseen force, she went over and took a look. "A copy of China Youth Daily, please."

"Five fen!"

She pulled out a handkerchief, picked out a banknote, and handed it over, receiving a newspaper in return.

Farther down the street stood a rundown courtyard, the workplace the neighborhood office had found for them. She was the first to arrive every day, opening up and doing a bit of cleaning, for which she earned an extra three yuan a month.

Cao Yulan went in and sat on a battered box, making out the words with difficulty by the light of the sky.

"I'm nineteen this year. You could say I've only just begun to make my way in life... When I was little, I heard people talk about How the Steel Was Tempered and Lei Feng's Diary..."

It seemed to be a letter written by a young man.

It told of his short life so far, of all the things he had experienced as a child, a teenager, and a young adult.

He said that after returning to the city, he too had been assigned to a cooperative and had gone to Qianmen to sell tea, where he had faced discrimination and ridicule. He wrote of his feelings of inferiority and confusion: "I often wonder, what do people live for?"

"A person must build a spiritual home of their own, one that can illuminate their darkest places!"

"I still feel that life is full of sunshine!"

Cao Yulan held the newspaper in both hands, her eyes close to the page as she read word by word. They had never met, yet everything he wrote felt so familiar to her, so deeply resonant. And the person who had written the letter was so positive and optimistic, so full of truth, goodness, and beauty. At the end, he even said:

"I hope you all face the sea, with spring warmth and flowers blooming!"

"Plip, plop!"

Cao Yulan blinked, and despite herself, tears fell, spreading into blurred patches on the newspaper.

She had never imagined it-or rather, no one had ever said such words to her: "Face the sea, with spring warmth and flowers blooming!"

What did people live for?

All at once, a gentle force struck her heart. She had gone to school, worked, gone to the countryside, returned to the city, and gone on working. Before she knew it, twenty years had passed... It was as if she had slept a long sleep and, upon waking, found she had nothing.

"Yulan, why are you crying?"

"Who bullied you?"

Just then, another of her companions arrived and asked with concern.

"I'm fine. I was just a little moved..."

She passed her the newspaper. Not understanding what was going on, her companion began to read it too. After a long while, she looked up, her eyes red as well. "Yulan, why did you show me this, first thing in the morning..."

"What are you looking at?"

Their companions arrived one after another and fell under its spell in turn. Before long, they all looked like red-eyed rabbits.

"Really, no one's ever said anything like that to us!"

"This comrade is the same age as us!"

"Face the sea, with spring warmth and flowers blooming... That's so lovely. Even though we've never met, his words went straight to my heart!"

The girls all nodded. "Mm-hmm! Straight to our hearts!"

Dongcheng.

A cooperative with seventeen members had an even more tedious, monotonous job: pasting envelopes.

They were all young people in the prime of their lives, sitting there pasting envelopes every day. It was more draining than working on a factory assembly line, and the place was usually lifeless. But today was different. Everyone had gathered around a newspaper.

"Hey, what do you think the meaning of life really is?"

"I can't say. I've never thought about it."

"I don't know either, but there certainly isn't much meaning in us pasting envelopes here."

"I really agree with this comrade. Is selling tea any better than what we do? We're still young. Who knows what the future holds? It's important to stay optimistic and enrich our spiritual lives."

"Hey?"

One person suddenly said, "Why don't we write this comrade a letter and thank him for putting our feelings into words?"

"Yes, yes, that's a good idea!"

"Quick, get a pen!"

China Youth Daily was a major newspaper, required daily reading at offices and institutions.

In the office of a small organization in Haidian, a young man finished reading the newspaper and the interview, then sat in silence. After a long while, he spread out a sheet of writing paper and couldn't help picking up his pen:

"Comrade Chen Qi, hello:

I read the news about you in the newspaper, and it moved me deeply. At the same time, I couldn't help feeling ashamed of my own choice. When I had the opportunity to take over one of my parents' jobs, I didn't have the courage you did..."

"I heard that your cooperative is near Qianmen. I would very much like to visit you, but I was afraid of being presumptuous, so I first wrote this letter to the newspaper, hoping you would see it.

If we have the chance, we could meet and have a good talk. I'm sure we'd have plenty in common to discuss.

I look forward to your reply!"

Beijing, Dahua Radio Instrument Factory.

Zheng Yuanjie was twenty-four that year. Thanks to the aircraft repair skills he had learned in the army, he had been assigned here after leaving the service. His daily job was to operate a water pump: one pump, two buttons. When he came on shift, he pressed the green button to let the water flow; when he got off work, he pressed the red button to shut it off.

Forty yuan a month.

He had started dating someone at the factory and was especially fond of the young woman. Unfortunately, she looked down on his elementary school diploma and wanted him to take the college entrance exam and become an educated man.

Zheng Yuanjie thought it over seriously and decided that taking the exam would only be asking to humiliate himself. There was no need for it, and naturally, the relationship fell apart. Zheng Yuanjie felt that because he wasn't an educated man, he didn't even have the right to choose a partner. So he began wondering how he could become an educated man without relying on a diploma.

There was only one answer: writing!

At that moment, he too was looking at that day's China Youth Daily, reading the article. Although he didn't care for its lyrical passages, he was deeply moved by its description of confusion and uncertainty.

Every generation had its own confusion, and it all struck a chord.

Chen Qi!

Zheng Yuanjie committed the name to memory, then went back to slacking off and writing his own fairy tale, Heihei on Honesty Island.

Gaohe Town, Anhui.

At Gaohe Middle School, fifteen-year-old Zha Haisheng suddenly shivered, inexplicably sensing that a sliver of his luck had been stolen.

He shook his head and went back to studying, preparing for the college entrance exam in July.

That was right. He was going to take the college entrance exam at fifteen, and he would be admitted to Peking University's law department.

China Youth Daily had a nationwide circulation of two million, with Beijing and its surrounding areas as its main market. On this day, at least several hundred thousand people saw the letter and the interview.

Everyone had been pent up for too long and urgently needed an outlet. Although this outlet had only opened a tiny crack for now, they were still passing the pieces around, discussing them, and even actively seeking them out with burning enthusiasm.

It was like a piece of sweet, fragrant bread, drawing hungry, thirsty people to it.

Who knew how many people picked up their pens and wrote to the newspaper about their views on life, also eagerly hoping that the author, who was their own age, would respond.

Except at the No. 2 Plastics Factory.

The leaders of the No. 2 Plastics Factory also had a copy of the newspaper in hand, and their faces had turned green!

(Thanks to Gaoshanyangzi for the generous tip. No more...)

(End of chapter)