Chapter 4: Not Wanting to Eat Plain Steamed Buns Tonight

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Li Yousi felt a lingering fear. If he had gotten any closer to Zhang Li just now, he might have ended up taking a bullet. At such a prime age, he certainly didn’t want to be taken down by a bowl of seaweed and egg soup. Li Yousi was a law-abiding citizen, after all.

Leaving the cafeteria and walking a stretch of road, he arrived at the courtyard just as the distinctive scratchy sound of the erhu rose above the other instruments, followed by the piercing call of the suona horn, like a bizarre bird.

That was the spot where their musical troupe gathered. Li Yousi rejoined the group, took up his flute, and began playing along. The afternoon training lasted only a few hours; all he needed to do was keep pace with the team.

Life in the performing arts troupe was undoubtedly easier than that of the soldiers in the camp. Yet, the troupe played an irreplaceable role, especially during wartime, providing great morale support.

When training ended, Zhu Chunsheng approached.

“Xiao Li, did you get the role?”

Li Yousi replied somewhat dejectedly, “Sorry, teacher. Director Wang said I’m not really suited to play Baoyu.”

In the original story, Baoyu was a character who never sought fame or fortune. But Li Yousi clearly lacked such nobility; he always harbored ambitions to enter officialdom. That alone made him ill-suited for the part.

As Wang Fuling had said: his temperament didn’t fit Jia Baoyu.

Zhu Chunsheng sighed, then tried to console him. “You worked hard. This casting was nationwide; not making it isn’t something to worry about. There’s always someone better out there.”

But somehow, it didn’t sound much like comfort.

‘Your appearance is good, but many others are better.’

That was probably what Zhu Chunsheng meant.

“Thank you, teacher,” Li Yousi replied insincerely.

“Ah!” After talking about the casting, Zhu Chunsheng suddenly remembered some good news.

“I forgot to tell you, our suona master left!”

Hearing this, Li Yousi’s face fell.

He had some natural musical talent. The recruitment standard was simple — if you could read, you became an elementary school teacher; if you could write novels, you went to the cultural center.

He could play the flute, so that’s why he got in.

When he first arrived, the suona master saw his talent with the flute and even taught him a few tricks on the suona.

“Condolences!” Li Yousi muttered.

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Zhu Chunsheng gave him a light slap on the head—not painful, but enough to wake him up.

“I said he went back home, not that he died.”

Li Yousi laughed, “I figured the old man was so sturdy, there was no way he was gone! Haha.”

“But why did he leave?”

Zhu Chunsheng nodded. “Well, he originally came over during the ‘buzzing’ period, earlier than me. He should have been able to return years ago, but he stayed on for a few more years. Now, he’s old and wants to go back for a visit.”

“Hmm.” Li Yousi nodded repeatedly.

“Didn’t he teach you suona before? In a few days, you’ll be performing for the soldiers at the camp. Stop practicing the flute for now! Practice the suona — you’re up next.” Zhu Chunsheng smiled and patted Li Yousi’s shoulder hard.

Li Yousi asked, “Teacher, is this really good news? Besides the old man, no one else in our troupe knows how to play the suona?”

Anyway, the pay was the same.

Li Yousi doing the work of two people? That’s a raw deal.

No way! Absolutely not!

After all, he had learned from the seasoned members of the troupe—they worked as a collective.

Zhu Chunsheng sighed. “He didn’t teach anyone else, there’s no choice. You’re the only one with some foundation. You just hold the fort for a while; others will be transferred in soon.”

“Oh.” He could only nod reluctantly.

He had thought that since he missed the role, at least he could comfort himself. Instead, he was immediately assigned a heavy task.

Simply unbelievable!

Leaving the training group, Li Yousi walked along a path lined with towering trees. It was autumn, and the breeze made him feel slightly chilled.

His pace quickened.

But Li Yousi was pondering a pressing matter…

In this era, meat cost ninety cents per jin, and a bowl of noodles was fifty cents. Supplies were scarce and rationed; tickets were needed. These were all obstacles to his ambition to eat meat.

He needed to earn money.

In the 1980s, there were many paths.

Either become a director or screenwriter, doing what great directors do, courting stars like Chen Hong, Gong Xue, Zhu Lin, Tao Huimin, He Qian, Lin Fangbing… Liu Xiaoqing was out of reach for ordinary people.

Or head south to become a speculator—ha ha ha—leading the rich to enrich others.

Or be melancholy, embrace scars, and pose as a cultured intellectual.

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Of course, Li Yousi wanted to do something familiar. Being a director was off the table; the “Dream of the Red Chamber” production had already broken his heart.

“As for speculating… I don’t want to end up in detention for profiteering.”

After a moment’s thought—“Better eat first.”

Li Yousi went to the cafeteria, grabbed a few steamed buns and a packet of pickles, then returned to the dormitory. He wrapped one bun for later, putting it under his pillow as a midnight snack.

He ate the remaining buns with pickles.

From under his desk, Li Yousi pulled out several magazines: People’s Literature, Beiping Literature, and Story Collection.

One of the few entertainments in the army was reading novels and magazines.

Story Collection was more popular and accessible, widely read in the dormitory. People’s Literature and Beiping Literature were more literary, harder to digest.

Opening People’s Literature, Li Yousi found Wang Zengqi’s “Eight Thousand Years.”

In 1980, Wang Zengqi published “Taking the Precepts,” which quickly made him famous nationwide.

He became one of the most renowned representative writers of the 1980s and ’90s.

Li Yousi glanced through the stories in People’s Literature, then Story Collection and Beiping Literature.

~

He spent the entire night pondering his own writing. By process of elimination, writing novels seemed the best fit for him.

Then he mulled over the story in his mind.

Li Yousi felt he had a real talent for writing. In his previous life, during university, he had submitted stories to various literary magazines and got a few published.

Having read many classics, his writing wasn’t bad. As for stories—didn’t the future have plenty ready-made ones?

His pen scratched across the manuscript paper; he aimed to write a novella.

The target was about 100,000 characters—definitely impossible to finish in one night.

“I have to write faster.”

Tired, Li Yousi lay back in the shared dorm room of a dozen or so men. The faint odor of feet wafted through the air. He stared quietly at the dusty ceiling, holding the wrapped steamed bun, nibbling slowly.

“I’ll leave the dorm first, then I won’t have to eat steamed buns at night!”