Chapter 36: After the Fragrant Grass Withers, the Scars Shall Perish!

The sun slanted westward, casting a crimson glow over the clouds above the capital, dyeing them a brilliant red. The fading warmth of the sunlight filtered through the patterned glass of the exquisite carved wooden windows in the study, falling upon the four men seated before a rustic tea table.

Ye Shengtao, in his eighties; Zhang Guangnian, sixty-seven; and Ye Zhicheng, in his fifties. Cheng Kaiyan was the youngest of the group at only twenty—everyone else was at least twice his age. With two generations of elders and one of an uncle’s generation, Cheng Kaiyan remained humble, showing proper respect for his seniors.

Seated across from Cheng Kaiyan was Zhang Guangnian, editor-in-chief of *People’s Literature*. He was currently cradling the manuscript of *Fragrant Grass*, reading intently while occasionally lifting his teacup for a sip. Most people might not recognize his name, but mention "The Yellow River Cantata," and almost everyone would know it—it was the work of the esteemed Mr. Zhang Guangnian. His pen name was Guang Weiran; a native of Laohekou, Hubei, he began his literary career in 1934 after enrolling in the private Zhonghua University in Wuchang (a predecessor to Central China Normal University). His most famous works, including "Flowers of May" and "The Yellow River Cantata," were known for their intense political, revolutionary, and populist spirit, exerting a profound influence on the masses.

As Zhang became absorbed in his reading, Ye Shengtao and the others began to chat about daily life.

"So, Kaiyan, you’re a veteran? No wonder I noticed a hint of a soldier’s posture in the way you stand and walk," Ye Zhicheng remarked with surprise.

"Yes, I just returned not long ago. I took a train from the Southern Frontier back to the capital last month," Cheng Kaiyan nodded.

"The Southern Frontier? Did you enlist there? There’s a war going on—you must have seen the battlefield, right?" Ye Shengtao asked.

"I was in a cultural troupe, but I did see combat. I carried a rifle and faced the enemy, but I was wounded and discharged." Cheng Kaiyan pursed his lips. It was that very experience that had allowed him to be reborn.

Hearing this, the elder Ye and his son exchanged glances. They had never imagined that this twenty-year-old youth, who had enlisted at sixteen, had endured so much, serving on the front lines to protect the country before being honorably discharged.

"Ah... you young people shed blood and sacrifice yourselves on the battlefield, while we old men hide in the rear..." Ye Shengtao stroked his beard and sighed deeply.

"Let’s not dwell on that. Speaking of the Southern Frontier, the leaders of the General Political Department organized a group of military writers to visit for inspiration around this time last year. Now that some progress has been made in the war, there’s talk of another trip, though this time it won’t be limited to military writers. Some people outside have been saying there’s an element of embellishment, and the leaders are frustrated, so they’ve decided to organize outstanding civilian writers to visit the front lines," Ye Zhicheng explained. He had been busy attending various meetings in the capital—end-of-year reports, summaries, and forward-looking discussions—and had picked up quite a bit of news.

"A military-themed visit?" Cheng Kaiyan suddenly thought of the female comrade who used to mend his clothes. "If they organize another one, I’ll be the first to sign up."

"Haha, typical Kaiyan, always so proactive. When the leaders mentioned it at the meeting, everyone else was nervous, terrified of being called upon. I’ll keep an eye out for you and let you know if there’s any progress."

Ye Zhicheng chuckled, looking at Cheng Kaiyan with a newfound sense of respect. This young man was truly extraordinary; no wonder he could write such profound literature!

"That would be a great help, Uncle Ye."

"It’s nothing. I’m just waiting for your *Fragrant Grass* to be published; make sure to send me a copy when it is."

"I will!"

...

As the three chatted, Zhang Guangnian suddenly let out a shout that startled everyone.

"Good! Good! Good! This book is truly excellent!"

Zhang slapped his thigh and stood up, his face flushed with excitement. He set down the thick pile of manuscript pages and looked urgently at Cheng Kaiyan. "Comrade Kaiyan! You must submit this novel to *People’s Literature*! It is simply too good! Our journal is in desperate need of young talents like you!" He kept a firm grip on Cheng Kaiyan’s hand, as if afraid he might run away.

"Haha! I told you! I knew Brother Guangnian would love it," Ye Zhicheng said, clearly pleased with the success of his recommendation.

"I am deeply moved by this novel! In my opinion, *Fragrant Grass* has the potential to spark an entirely new literary movement in this country, one distinct from 'Scar Literature'!" Zhang Guangnian’s tone was solemn and grave—the mark of an experienced editor-in-chief.

Ye Zhicheng and the others were stunned. *Fragrant Grass* was indeed well-written, but to suggest it would trigger a trend as significant as "Scar Literature"? That was hard to believe. After all, the masterpieces of the "Scar" movement had been published less than two years ago; they were still at the height of their popularity, the subject of national debate and passionate creation. Could a new wave really be coming so soon?

"I am willing to call this 'Educated Youth Literature'! Everyone knows that 'Scar Literature' is, at its core, a profound revelation and indictment of the physical and mental suffering people endured during the 'Hum-Hum-Hum' period. The emergence of that trend met a social need, helping people vent their long-repressed anger and accusations, guiding them out of the shadows. It holds immense social and historical significance, but it is ultimately limited by its era."

"As the rustication policy has slowed, more and more educated youths are returning to the cities. For months, I have noticed a group of young writers with 'educated youth' backgrounds entering the literary scene. While they haven’t produced influential works yet, the trend is becoming increasingly clear."

"In Comrade Kaiyan’s *Fragrant Grass*, I see themes completely different from those of 'Scar Literature.' Remember, under the call of the 'Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside' policy, countless ambitious youths voluntarily gave up their urban residency to dedicate themselves to construction. Who can deny their youthful passion, their struggle? I haven’t finished *Fragrant Grass*, but I can already see this wave crashing down upon us!"

Finally, Zhang Guangnian declared with a resounding tone: "After *Fragrant Grass*, 'Scar Literature' will die!"

The voice was not loud, but it was thunderous, leaving everyone stunned and hearts pounding. "Scar Literature" was going to die?

"Are you serious? Your *People’s Literature* was the very first to bring 'Scar Literature' into the mainstream! How can you be so certain it will die after reading *Fragrant Grass*?" Ye Zhicheng was shocked. As an editor for *Yuhua*, he had seen "Scar Literature" grow from its inception to a national phenomenon.

"Just wait and see!" Mr. Zhang Guangnian smiled mysteriously.

"I’ll believe it when I see it!" Ye Zhicheng shook his head repeatedly. It was absurd; only days ago, they had held a meeting about continuing to promote "Scar Literature"!

Ye Shengtao and Cheng Kaiyan exchanged a smile. Zhang Guangnian was both right and wrong. One was the creator, the other the primary reader. They understood *Fragrant Grass* far more deeply than Zhang or Ye. The "regressive" nature of the "Educated Youth Literature" was only a part of it. But even this first volume of over a hundred thousand words was enough to stir the tide of a new movement—enough to overturn the dominance of "Scar Literature."