Chapter 22: Final Publication

"The evening breeze brushes against Penghu Bay, white waves chase the sandy shore; there are no coconut groves to adorn the setting sun, only a vast expanse of ocean blue. Sitting on the low wall before my door, I reflect again and again..."

After finishing the letter, Liu Xiaoli tucked it into the inner pocket of her jacket.

She then walked toward the theater’s main canteen with a pleasant smile. As she strolled along the tree-lined path, she hummed a melody from this year... or rather, from last year, the song "Grandma's Penghu Bay" performed by the Taiwanese singer Pan Anbang.

This song had been written to commemorate stories shared with a grandmother at Penghu Bay.

Since its release, "Grandma's Penghu Bay" had been widely loved and sung, becoming a classic of campus folk music. It was not only popular in Taiwan but also highly renowned throughout mainland China and other Chinese-speaking regions.

Due to certain indescribable bans, Taiwanese music was often viewed as "decadent sounds" and was not officially permitted to enter the country. However, in places like opera and dance theaters or cultural troupes, such restrictions were naturally less effective.

...

The Jiangcheng Opera and Dance Theater had a complex history, having undergone numerous name changes.

Its predecessor was the Rehe Military Region Victory Theater Troupe, established in 1945. In March 1947, it was expanded into the Rehe-Chahar-Hebei Military Region Cultural Troupe, and in July of the same year, it was reorganized into the Art College of the North China Associated University. It was not until May 1949 that it moved south to Jiangcheng and was renamed the Central-South Cultural and Arts Work Troupe.

In 1953, it merged with the music and drama departments of the Central-South Institute of Arts to establish the Central-South People's Art Theater. It wasn't until 1963 that it split from the Jiangcheng People's Art Theater and was finally reorganized into the Jiangcheng Opera and Dance Theater, a name it has retained to this day.

Located on Jiefang Avenue in the Jiang'an District of Jiangcheng, it is a theater with a long and storied history.

The theater consists of a dance troupe, an opera troupe, a national orchestra (vocal and instrumental), and a stage design engineering department. Over the years, it has created and rehearsed more than thirty large-scale operas and dance dramas. The dance drama *Record of Huaiyin* and the opera *Xiang Xiuli* participated in the tenth and twentieth-anniversary celebrations of the founding of the nation, respectively; the opera *Morning Star* won the first prize for creation and performance from the Ministry of Culture.

In the future, a production titled *Chu Rhyme*, starring Liu Xiaoli, would go on to win the "Five One Project" award and the Wenhua New Play Award.

"Xiaoli! Why are you so happy today? Have you had breakfast yet?"

In front of a statue at the entrance of the theater's classic European-style building, an elderly man with a white beard and no hair, wearing a white training uniform, greeted her with a smile while practicing his movements. This was the theater’s vice president, Mr. Fan Ji'an.

"Not yet, President. I was just on my way to get some."

Liu Xiaoli gave a gentle smile and responded in a crisp voice. Today was New Year's Day, and the theater was closed, so Liu Xiaoli wasn't particularly intimidated by this old man who spoke in the local Jiangcheng dialect.

Having lived in Jiangcheng for nearly eight years, Liu Xiaoli could understand the local dialect and even speak a little, though she rarely used such colorful phrases. Since most people in the theater spoke Mandarin, she hadn't picked up much of the local tongue.

When she arrived at the canteen, a queue had already formed. As a dancer, she exercised frequently, so her appetite was naturally quite healthy. She ordered a bowl of hot dry noodles topped with scallions, a bowl of sweet egg wine, and a fried dough stick—this was her breakfast for the day.

"Sigh, it's so hard just to buy a mianwo..."

Liu Xiaoli watched for a while, but seeing the crowd, she took her food and began to eat on her own. She wasn't the type to eat with dainty, overly quiet movements, yet every gesture she made remained inherently elegant.

After eating her fill, Liu Xiaoli headed straight for Jiefang Avenue; she wanted to buy some books. In this day and age, daily entertainment was scarce, and many people passed the time by reading. Wang Danping, a seventeen-year-old girl from Changyang who shared Liu Xiaoli's dormitory, often spent her entire salary on stacks of books, reading until she forgot to eat or sleep, leading the other girls in the dorm to borrow from her constantly.

Liu Xiaoli was no exception; she loved to read. She had read all the local literary journals of the past few years, such as *Yangtze River Literature and Art*, *Jiangcheng Literature and Art*, as well as the immensely popular *People's Literature* and *Yanhe*.

Exiting the theater onto Jiefang Avenue, she was met with a street lined with shops and factories. By 1958, the main thoroughfare of Jiefang Avenue had been largely completed. The sixty-meter-wide road was comparable to Beijing's Chang'an Avenue, and the locals proudly called it "Jiangcheng's Chang'an Avenue."

Every National Day, there would be a grand parade on Jiefang Avenue. The 1979 National Day marked thirty years since the founding of the nation, and the whole country celebrated. Liu Xiaoli had gone with friends to watch the parade once; it was spectacular. Starting with the firing of a gun at Zhongshan Park on Jiefang Avenue, it was a city-wide carnival: Young Pioneers carrying flags and wearing red scarves, the disciplined march of the People's Liberation Army... accompanied by the clashing of military music, the parade phalanxes moved forward in a grand, sweeping wave. It was truly magnificent.

...

At the Xinhua Bookstore on Jiefang Avenue, there weren't many people out this morning due to the cold weather.

Shop assistant Mao Aiqun pushed open the bookstore doors. Although she was supposed to be off, she had volunteered to stay and work the shift with another colleague.

"Whew! It's freezing!"

Mao Aiqun complained softly, cupping her hands to her mouth to warm them with her breath. Glancing down the street, she saw an auntie frying dough sticks, so she bought one along with a cup of sweet soy milk to take back to the shop.

Mao Aiqun’s first task every day was to organize the new journals, moving them stack by stack to their designated spots. *People's Literature*, for instance, had to be placed in the most prominent position in the store; otherwise, if a customer came looking for it and couldn't find it, they might just tear the place apart.

She broke into a sweat while tidying up.

"Where is *Children's Literature*?"

Mao Aiqun liked to read to pass the time and began searching through the newly arrived journals. On the first of every month, many literary magazines were released.

She was thirty-six years old this year. Her husband worked at the Water Conservancy Bureau, and she had a son in elementary school who liked reading *Children's Literature*. Actually, it wasn't that the boy liked reading so much as he liked Mao Aiqun telling him stories before bed. Thus, Mao Aiqun had developed the habit of reading children's stories herself. As an adult, she preferred the pure literature found in *Children's Literature* for its depth of thought. She always felt that Shanghai's *Youth Literature and Art* contained stories that didn't quite fit the current standards of ordinary people's lives—they felt a bit too precious. She also quite liked *Children's Times*, which was overseen by Madame Soong Ching-ling.

Today's issue of *Children's Literature* was the first of 1980. The brand-new cover featured an underwater scene: a deep blue seabed filled with coral. Tucked among the coral was an exquisite, cute-looking submarine, while on the other side, a blue submarine was firing two shells at it.

"The Submarine in the Night? Interesting!"

Mao Aiqun flipped to the table of contents and, sure enough, the first page was this piece, "The Submarine in the Night," written by an author named Cheng Kaiyan.

"Cheng Kaiyan... never heard of him. A new writer. But if the editor Xu Dexia dared to put him on the first page, she must have had her reasons."

Thinking this, Mao Aiqun lowered her head and began to read. Gradually, as if following the protagonist's perspective, she became immersed in this strange and fantastical world.

"From middle school on, I was plagued by overgrown fantasies, unable to focus on my studies, unable to focus on anything. When I was younger, no one noticed the symptoms; they even praised my rich imagination."

Does the subtext mean he considers this an illness? Is this the protagonist's perspective as an adult?

Mao Aiqun frowned and read on.

"I pointed at the wood grain on the bedroom door and said it was an ancient general's helmet, that it was the profile of a panda, and my parents agreed it looked like one... One day, my father came home and found me staring intently at the flushing toilet, asking what I was doing. I told him a giant whirlpool had appeared on Loch Ness and our canoe was about to be sucked in. My father asked who 'we' were, and I said it was me, Tintin, and his dog. He just patted my head and asked if I needed him to save me, otherwise, it would be too late for dinner."

Mao Aiqun felt this passage was heartwarming; the protagonist's parents initially didn't see it as an illness, regarding it as a brilliant imagination, and their interactions were full of love.

The more she read, the more absorbed she became, and the more alarmed she felt. For some reason, after starting school, the parents' attitude toward the protagonist changed, viewing it as an illness and taking him to see a doctor. Was it because... it affected his studies?

Mao Aiqun pursed her lips, thinking.

By the time she reached the end, where the protagonist contemplates his imagination detaching from him, she couldn't help but murmur, "Have I inadvertently stifled my own son's imagination? Does even the most brilliant and dazzling imagination have to fall to the earth when pulled by the heavy gravity of reality? Is everything that affects one's studies an 'illness'?"

...

Just then, a young, beautiful, and tall girl walked through the shop door. It was Liu Xiaoli.

"Hello, do you have the new issue of *Children's Literature*? I want the one with the submarine!" Liu Xiaoli asked the clerk politely.

She thought it was a coincidence; the letter from Comrade Cheng had arrived that morning, and the new issue of the bimonthly *Children's Literature* happened to arrive today. Although Liu Xiaoli didn't usually like reading children's stories, she thought about how this story was written by Cheng Kaiyan, who was younger than her. In the lines of his letter, the boy showed a sense of longing for her as if she were an elder sister—after all, he was an only child, and it was normal for him to envy those with older siblings.

Liu Xiaoli felt an inexplicable sense of wanting to look after a younger brother. Although Liu Xiaoli had a younger sister who was lively and pretty, this was a *brother*, which was different from the annoying creature that was a younger sister. Especially a brother who was so talented, played music, painted, and wrote articles.

Liu Xiaoli felt a sense of delight in her heart.

After her polite greeting, she noticed the clerk didn't move, and she frowned but said nothing. After all, being a clerk at a Xinhua Bookstore was one of the most sought-after and popular professions of the "Eight Great Officials." Some stores even hung signs saying "Do not beat the customers without cause."

Liu Xiaoli looked at the flushed neck and face of the Jiangcheng lady and instinctively shrank back. She knew the fighting spirit of these Jiangcheng ladies; she could be scolded for a hundred rounds and never be able to get a word in.

"Hello, comrade... excuse me... do you have the new issue of *Children's Literature*?" Liu Xiaoli asked in a soft, gentle voice.

"Oh! Sorry, I was a bit distracted. What was it you wanted?" After being asked twice, the clerk, Mao Aiqun, finally snapped out of it.

"*Children's Literature*, do you have the new issue? The one with the submarine?"

"Submarine? You mean this one?" Mao Aiqun's eyes lit up as she pointed to the article in her hand.

"Yes, that's the one!"

"Are you here for this too? What a coincidence! Let me tell you, this article is so well-written! I just finished it—he really is an incredible new writer!"

Mao Aiqun was like a child now, gesturing enthusiastically as she introduced something she loved to a friend, going on and on, constantly recommending it to Liu Xiaoli.

Is it really that good? If the Xinhua Bookstore clerk says so, it can't be fake. Liu Xiaoli had originally planned to buy it just for Cheng Kaiyan's sake, not expecting it to be anything special, as he was just a new writer and this was his first novel. But hearing the clerk praise it, Liu Xiaoli believed it a bit more.

"Comrade, I'll take a copy of *Children's Literature*, the new issue, and also a copy of *Jiangcheng Literature and Art* and *Harbin Literature and Art*." Liu Xiaoli said. Buying three books at once was a small matter for her.

"I'll give you this copy. Also, *Jiangcheng Literature and Art* is gone; starting with the first issue of the New Year, it's been renamed *Fragrant Grass*," Mao Aiqun said while finding the books.

"Oh, it changed its name."

Liu Xiaoli nodded, tucked the books away, paid, and headed home. As soon as she returned to the dormitory, her roommates were still asleep. Liu Xiaoli poured herself a cup of tea, sat down at her desk, and began to read with full immersion.

After reading a few paragraphs, Liu Xiaoli felt a sense of literary style and freshness that was different from other writers. A young girl's heart couldn't help but flutter with anticipation.

"From childhood to adulthood, it's layer upon layer, like a Russian nesting doll. I feel exceptionally fulfilled and comfortable; the bed is a soft lake, and I sink in silently on this autumn afternoon..."

"Such fresh writing, so delicate and vivid. This little Comrade Cheng really has talent!"

Liu Xiaoli suppressed the surprise in her heart and continued reading.

...

"I let all my imagination concentrate in my brain. They are pale blue points of light, scattered all over my body like the tail-flames of fireflies; now they surge toward the top of my head. After a long time, they gather into a large mass of pale blue light, floating up from my head, gradually detaching from me like a will-o'-the-wisp wandering in the room."

Seeing this, Liu Xiaoli’s heart tightened, and goosebumps broke out all over her body. This description was too marvelous, too inspired!

"I once possessed talent, but this talent was too overwhelming; I couldn't use it to achieve any sort of career in reality. Once you possess it, reality becomes insignificant. There is no joy greater than those fantasies. My flame was extinguished at sixteen. The so-called career I achieved in the rest of my life was nothing but a few wisps of blue smoke rising after the fire had died out."

Seeing this, Liu Xiaoli’s breathing became rapid. She couldn't help but cover her chest, soft as a marshmallow, with one hand. The heart deep within her chest, full of vitality, felt as if it had been scorched by a flame—it was burning hot, making her beautiful, moving body tremble subconsciously.

At this moment, she saw in her mind a man whose face she couldn't clearly see, leaning against a railing, smoking alone. Those wisps of blue smoke were the talent he had burned away...

"Cheng Kaiyan... what kind of person is he exactly... Damn it, he must be a cunning guy! The photo he sent is from when he was fifteen or sixteen! He just didn't want people to see what he looks like now, right?"

Liu Xiaoli held the photo, examining it closely, feeling a bit dissatisfied in her heart. In the dim dormitory, she couldn't calm down for a long time, and suddenly, she grabbed a fountain pen and began to write a letter.

At the same time, this short story was attracting the attention of many people all across the country.