Chapter 9: Written Truly Well

No. 97 Qianmen West Street, Beiping City.

This was a place cherished by literature enthusiasts: the editorial department of *Beiping Literature*.

In the 1980s, *Beiping Literature* was a publication capable of rivaling *People's Literature*. It had brought forth countless outstanding works, such as "Ordination" and "A Young Man Arrives at the Organization Department," and had nurtured many exceptional editors like Zhou Yanru and Zhang Deling.

Young editors, too, dreamed of carving out their own space here. Young Zhang walked slowly into the *Beiping Literature* magazine office and took a deep breath. He retrieved the latest submissions from the "submission mailbox" at the entrance. At a glance, there were dozens, perhaps over a hundred envelopes.

The 1980s was an era of cultural prosperity. Without televisions or mobile phones, many students were avid readers and literature lovers, so the number of submissions was endless. The security officer responsible for collecting the mail packed these manuscripts into a sack and handed it over. "Comrade Zhang, this should be all for today."

Young Zhang nodded and, carrying the sack of submissions, headed toward the editorial department. "So many manuscripts today!" he sighed.

Upon arriving at the office, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy seeing the veteran editors leisurely sipping tea. He began the task of distributing the manuscripts. He approached Chen Hongjun’s desk and asked, "Teacher Chen?"

Chen Hongjun smiled and waved a hand. "I’m still editing a comrade's manuscript today; it's going to be published in a couple of days. Give these to the others."

Young Zhang continued to the other desks. Zhang Deling was one of the more diligent editors—or, to put it simply, one of the most hardworking—so despite her youth, she had already edited many fine works. She smiled and took a stack.

Finally, a pile remained. These submissions were generally not welcomed by the editorial department for a simple reason: the cost was too high. Out of dozens of submissions, it was rare for even one to pass the first round of review. Then came the second and third rounds... after the long process, almost everything was rejected.

Seeing Young Zhang hitting a wall everywhere, the elderly Zhou Yanru, sitting further inside, laughed. "Alright, give those to me."

"Teacher Zhou?" Young Zhang looked at her, then asked, "Teacher Zhou, don't you still have a manuscript you're working on?"

"It’s fine. I’ll look through these to pass the time. Give the rest to me."

Young Zhang nodded, placed the remaining manuscripts from the sack onto Zhou Yanru’s desk, and left.

Zhou Yanru casually tore open an envelope. After opening the manuscript and glancing at the first page, she shook her head, seemingly dissatisfied. She then looked at the next page; one could not judge a life or death based on a single page.

Still, it wouldn't do.

After finishing one piece after another, Zhou Yanru sighed helplessly. Even as the gentlest veteran in the magazine office, she couldn't help but lament, "No, the quality today is truly poor!"

Finally, she opened the last envelope—the thickest one of the lot. Upon opening it, she found dozens of neatly written pages, with a letter of recommendation attached to the back.

"From the Zhanqi Cultural Troupe? I should take a closer look at this one."

Members of the cultural troupe were considered military personnel and were treated with favor by the magazine office; after all, their rich life experiences made them likely candidates for future success. Of course, this label also made getting a manuscript accepted slightly easier.

The first thing that caught Zhou Yanru's eye was the title: "Falling Leaves Return to Their Roots."

*Tsk, this has some substance.*

Zhou Yanru mused to herself. One could judge a writer's literary standard just by their title; these four characters were quite well-chosen. At a glance, she saw that the theme was "roots," though she didn't yet know what kind.

As for the first page, the handwriting was excellent. Li Yousi wrote a beautiful hand, the regular script neat and orderly. This was exactly the kind of manuscript the editorial department loved to see! Making a good first impression meant the battle was half-won.

Just then, it was noon. Zhang Deling looked back at Zhou Yanru and called out, "Teacher Zhou, going to lunch?"

Zhou Yanru was currently reading the first paragraph and found it intriguing, so she replied subconsciously, "Little Zhang, you go ahead. I’ll finish this story first."

"Alright. Do you want me to bring something back for you, Teacher Zhou?" Zhang Deling asked as she walked over, her eyes catching a glimpse of the manuscript.

*The handwriting is good!* she thought.

*The concept is also good... hmm... such a high standard on just the first thousand words?*

Zhang Deling caught a glimpse and realized this manuscript was no simple matter. It had high artistic value—at least a three-story building worth of depth. She sighed, "Teacher Zhou, which author wrote this?"

"A newcomer. I just picked it out of the pile..." Zhou Yanru adjusted her glasses, rubbed her tired eyes with her fingertips, and continued reading.

Zhang Deling was even more curious. "A newcomer?" *Are you telling me this is a newcomer?*

"It should be. I haven't seen the pen name 'Li Yousi' before."

Li Yousi was an honest man who didn't use other pen names. He used his own name, which made him easy to identify.

"But the quality is really good!" Zhang Deling continued to marvel. She checked the time and added, "Well, Teacher Zhou, I won't disturb you. I'm off to eat."

Zhou Yanru nodded and kept her head buried in the manuscript.

The first few thousand words alone had drawn her in. It was a story set in the summer of 1979: a middle-aged "educated youth" in his forties, just months before his scheduled return to his hometown, passed away due to illness after grueling labor on the Loess Plateau. Lao Zhao, his fellow townsman, upon learning he was finally allowed to return home, resolutely carried his deceased friend to bring him back to be buried in their home village.

The premise alone was infinitely compelling.

Was this "scar literature"? It didn't quite feel like it; it felt more like regional, earthy literature.

When she reached the part where Lao Zhao was robbed by bandits on the road, and one of the bandits blurted out, "Benevolence and righteousness!" Zhou Yanru was moved to tears.

Zhang Deling, having finished her meal, returned to the office to find Zhou Yanru still engrossed in the story. She left some food on the desk and said, "Teacher Zhou, here are the pancakes I brought for you."

Zhou Yanru thanked her and began eating the warm pancakes while reading. She became even more deeply immersed. In a short while, she had meticulously finished the entire hundred-thousand-word manuscript. Checking the time, she realized she had been reading from noon until three in the afternoon.

When Zhang Deling woke from her nap, she saw Zhou Yanru taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes.

Zhou Yanru was still sighing, "It is truly, wonderfully written!"