Chapter 24: Paying a Visit to Mr. Ye

January 3rd, morning.

Under the crooked tree in the Wutong Courtyard, a window creaked open. Cheng Kaiyan, clad in a military-style overcoat and a Leifeng hat, sat at his desk, pen in hand. On the desk, a bottle of blue ink sat uncapped, emitting a pungent yet strangely familiar scent. Beside the ink bottle lay dozens of pages of grid paper—the fruits of his labor over the past few days.

Although "Children's Literature," released just days ago, had become quite a hit—with children losing themselves in a vast, azure underwater world and adults beginning to reflect—it was still circulating within a limited circle. Cheng Kaiyan’s life remained largely unaffected and remarkably peaceful. He had merely bought a copy of the book as a keepsake and tucked it away on his shelf.

Despite being on holiday, he had not been idle. He had spent the time refining the outline for the first volume of "Fragrant Grass." He added more depth, moving beyond the simple romance between Xiaofang and Song Jingming. He aimed to weave in the experiences of the educated youth in the countryside, their youthful fervor, and the complexity of human nature against the backdrop of their struggle. In those days, these young people from the cities, once physically frail, labored arduously to build the southern frontier, undergoing a metamorphosis to become self-reliant individuals.

Cheng Kaiyan did not rely on pure fiction. The role of the educated youth in rural areas was a mixture of good and bad, and he refused to write a one-sided account. He strove for fairness, acknowledging their positive contributions through labor while also depicting the darker side: the petty thefts, the secret cooking, and the dalliances with village girls and young wives. This approach perhaps resonated with the "sent-down youth" literature trending in the 1980s, laying a solid foundation for his book.

"Life is truly blissful when you only work two days a week. I wish it could be like this forever..." Cheng Kaiyan squeezed the final character onto the grid paper, stood up, and stretched his limbs with a long sigh. These days, he had lived with ease and leisure—attending classes when scheduled, and spending his free time in the office or library writing manuscripts, reading, and occasionally admiring the female students of this era.

"Tick, tick..." Cheng Kaiyan glanced at the clock; it was twenty past ten. This was a habit he repeated over twenty times a day, tilting his head to check the time. Over time, his neck had begun to ache.

"I really want a wristwatch. It doesn't have to be an Omega or a Rado—a Shanghai or Beijing brand would do just fine!" He sighed. "Forget a watch? I can't even afford a bicycle right now."

He stood up, stretched, and headed to the kitchen to prepare lunch and clean the vegetables, waiting for Xu Yuxiu to return from work to finish the cooking. Although the school cafeteria wasn't expensive, eating at home was cheaper.

"Crackle, crackle..." Sitting before the stove, Cheng Kaiyan skillfully broke twigs into small pieces, feeding them into the hearth alongside a handful of dry leaves. He pulled out a box of matches. "Snap!" A bean-sized flame ignited, tracing an arc through the air before landing on the leaves. A plume of blue smoke rose, and soon, a roaring fire filled the stove. The orange glow flickered in his eyes, radiating warmth. Before long, the water in the pot began to steam; his task was complete. He sat by the fire, lost in thought.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the courtyard. "Is Cheng Kaiyan home?"

The voices were unfamiliar. Cheng Kaiyan hurried out. Standing in the courtyard were a middle-aged man with glasses and a woman in her twenties clutching a briefcase.

"Who are you?" Cheng Kaiyan asked.

"We are from the editorial department of 'Children's Literature.' Does Cheng Kaiyan live here?"

After deciding yesterday to request a review from the esteemed Mr. Ye Shengtao, the Editor-in-Chief had planned to bring the author along for a visit.

"I am he."

"You are Cheng Kaiyan? You're so young!" Xu Dexia exclaimed, covering her mouth in surprise. As an editor, she had read his manuscript at least ten times, already sketching a mental image of the author: a scruffy, thin, melancholy man in his thirties. How could it be such a young man in his twenties?

"Indeed. Please, come in." Cheng Kaiyan led them into his bedroom and poured two cups of tea. Seeing the familiar handwriting on the desk, the Editor-in-Chief accepted the reality: this young man was indeed the Cheng Kaiyan they were looking for.

The Editor-in-Chief smiled and explained their mission: "We are here to take you to visit Mr. Ye Shengtao to request a review. It will be beneficial for your literary career, and it will also help us boost our sales."

Mr. Ye Shengtao? Cheng Kaiyan was stunned. This was a frequent name in his old school textbooks; in the future, there would even be the "Ye Shengtao Cup" essay competition. He gladly agreed. There was no harm in this, though he was curious why the elderly gentleman would entertain them, as they were strangers.

"Actually, 'Children's Literature' was founded by Mr. Ye, Ms. Bing Xin, and several other literary pioneers. Mr. Ye frequently published his own works in the magazine, such as 'The Scarecrow' and 'The Statue of the Ancient Hero.' He is one of our country's rare masters of fairy tales and has always been deeply concerned with our magazine. He even visited us in person a few months ago. You need not worry; I spoke with Mr. Ye about this yesterday." The experienced Editor-in-Chief explained, sensing Cheng Kaiyan's hesitation.

Cheng Kaiyan left a note for his mother, Xu Yuxiu, and set out with them.

...

No. 71, Eighth Alley, Dongsi, Dongcheng District.

After meeting Mr. Ye’s son, Ye Zhicheng, the trio sat in the courtyard, sipping tea. Mr. Ye Shengtao was feeling slightly unwell, so they had to wait a short while. Cheng Kaiyan looked around the courtyard, finding it exquisite and beautiful.

The courtyard faced south, featuring a traditional "Ruyi" gate, a hard-mountain roof with grey tiles, and delicate brick carvings on the lintel. Vines clung to the corners of the walls, swaying in the morning breeze. On either side of the courtyard stood beautiful Xifu crabapple trees, creating a scene of poetic charm. Even the meticulously renovated courtyards of the future could not compare to this authentic, antique charm.

Xu Dexia, curious about Cheng Kaiyan, volunteered to explain the history of the house: "Mr. Ye has lived here for thirty or forty years. The location is excellent—east of the Chaoyangmen North Street. It is said that the courtyard was built in the mid-to-late Qing Dynasty and was once the residence of the official in charge of the Imperial Household Department's curtain warehouse. After the founding of New China, Mr. Ye bought it."

"The two crabapple trees in the yard bloom beautifully every warm April. The fresh green leaves set off the pink blossoms. Every year when they bloom, Mr. Ye invites old friends and family for a gathering we call the 'Crabapple Flower Party,' where everyone talks, recites poetry, and reminisces under the beautiful blossoms."

"I see," Cheng Kaiyan nodded.

Just then, Ye Zhicheng approached, supporting an elderly man with a white beard and white eyebrows.