Chapter Forty-Two: The Winds of Reform Sweep Across the Land!

"Sob, sob... it is so moving! Poor Xiao Fang and Xiao Cao, they are both so pitiful!"

"That dog-hearted Song Jingming is heartless, he’s not a human! A piece of trash, a scumbag! Even worse than Huang Shiren—a hypocritical, sanctimonious intellectual! A real dog!"

It was nine o'clock in the evening in the bedroom. Yang Shu'an leaned against two pillows, his wife resting against his shoulder. Her crystal-clear tears had soaked a large patch of his pajamas. She was sobbing uncontrollably, cursing Song Jingming between gasps. In her fury, she threw a few insults at Yang Shu'an as well.

Yang Shu'an, a native of Yizhang County, Hunan, was a writer of historical fiction and fairy tales. He entered the Chinese Department of Peking University in 1956, and when the journalism program was transferred to the Renmin University of China in 1958, he moved with it. After graduation, he worked as a middle school teacher and an editor for literary journals. He had authored over a dozen works, including the historical novels *September Chrysanthemum*, *The Lost Stories of Emperor Yang of Sui*, *The Floating Life of Li Houzhu*, and *Confucius*. In 1978, his fairy tale *The Little Colt and the Little Donkey* was published in the sixth issue of *Children's Literature* and was recognized as an outstanding work. His wife’s jab at "heartless intellectuals" was a stray shot that hit him too.

By now, Yang Shu'an had finally finished reading *Fragrant Grass*, a massive 300,000-word manuscript. He was surprised to find the overall tone so somber and desolate. Yet, it was hard to imagine that in the first volume, set in summer, the author Cheng Kaiyan’s writing style had been so vibrant, lively, and passionate. The story followed the struggles of "educated youth" in the southern frontier, showcasing their resilient spirit and, through the protagonist's growth, reflecting the hardships and maturation of an entire generation during a unique historical period.

What moved Yang Shu'an most was that this work stood in stark contrast to the "scar literature" that dominated the landscape. Even in 1980, with that genre in full swing, Yang could faintly glimpse the tip of a new literary iceberg.

"No wonder Editor-in-Chief Zhang Guangnian of *People’s Literature* is so invested, insisting that the author submit to them and even offering a top-tier rate of ten yuan per thousand characters. A new literature! Is our own journal, *Fragrant Grass*, about to soar just as *People’s Literature* did when it ushered in the era of scar literature?"

Despite having read all day and feeling physically and mentally exhausted, Yang felt an immense sense of excitement. He gently nudged his wife aside, got up, dressed, and sat at his desk. He began to draft his understanding and reflections on *Fragrant Grass*, which would also serve as his notes for the upcoming meeting.

Blue ink flowed from his fountain pen, and as his wrist moved, lean, elegant characters appeared on the page.

"Cheng Kaiyan’s novel *Fragrant Grass* is like a blade, slicing through the curtain that scar literature has draped over the literary world, bringing a brand-new perspective and theme. So, this is how a novel can be written! The passionate 'educated youth' theme is merely a part of it; *Fragrant Grass* is all-encompassing, like a truly existing world. This is a great work of realism! Yes, a great, monumental work. I can see various elements within it: youth, love, passion, unity. Under the temptation of returning to the city, educated youths abandon their wives and children; caught between morality, reason, and ideals, their humanity is laid bare! In my view, this novel goes beyond the story of the mother and daughter, Xiao Fang and Xiao Cao; there is a deeper, hidden philosophy waiting to be unearthed. But its most profound foundation is its sense of tragedy. Tragedy permeates all three volumes—it is countless."

"The story follows the order of spring, summer, autumn, and winter to reveal a world that truly exists. A false, non-existent spring; a blooming, intense summer; a desolate, harvest-filled autumn; a dead, cold winter. From the era of educated youth heading to the countryside, through the eighties, and into the nineties. What is even more chilling is that such a tragic world already exists; it is right before our eyes, occurring in every corner of this land."

He had not forgotten the note at the beginning of the manuscript: *This story is based on real events.*

"Why was there no spring... because there never was a spring! Is this just about the mother and daughter? No. The false spring gave them a brief moment of happiness and growth. But it was fleeting; to return to the big city, for the sake of profit and future, they abandoned family and love! They abandoned morality! In my view, the mother and daughter’s experiences are fundamentally the same! It is just that the mother, Xiao Fang, encountered a false spring, while Xiao Cao encountered a real one. Yet this real 'spring' was destructive, filled with the stubbornness of the proletariat; it was this 'spring' that, through humble, thieving means, raised the motherless Xiao Cao. But this 'spring' was arrested and taken away by the police, even as the brother constantly taught Xiao Cao not to steal. At this moment, I feel nothing but the world’s profound irony and disparity... The bottom line of society is that when a person cannot survive, laws, morals, and ethics cannot restrain them; only the most basic sense of good and evil can judge."

...

The next morning, at the *Fragrant Grass* editorial office, several young women and senior editors were gossiping.

"Did you hear? Editor-in-Chief Yang was moved to tears by that *Fragrant Grass* manuscript yesterday!"

"Really? That’s big news! A grown man crying? What kind of masterpiece is it?"

"Ahem!"

"Good morning, Editor-in-Chief!"

Yang Shu'an cleared his throat and announced to the group, "Everyone, back to work. I have a copy of *Fragrant Grass* here—is anyone interested in reviewing it?"

"Me! Me! Me!"

The young editors participated eagerly, all wanting to see what kind of novel could make a man in his forties weep. The result was as expected. For the next few days, the sounds of sobbing could be heard throughout the office, and everyone had red, swollen eyes.

Two days later, in the *Fragrant Grass* conference room, the staff held an initial discussion on the work. By now, everyone understood just how excellent, brilliant, and profound this novel—which shared the name of their own journal—truly was.

A blackboard at the front read: *“Fragrant Grass” Work Discussion Meeting*. In the small conference room of less than fifty square meters, over twenty editors and a dozen newcomers were packed tightly. Yang Shu'an stood at the front, manuscript in hand, delivering a passionate lecture for over an hour, introducing the book from the ground up:

"Teacher Cheng Kaiyan’s book uses the twenty years from the mid-70s to the 90s as its background, moving from the countryside to the city through complex conflicts. Centered on the mother and daughter, Xiao Fang and Xiao Cao, it portrays the images of numerous ordinary people from all walks of society. Labor and love, setbacks and pursuits, pain and joy, daily life and massive social conflicts are intricately woven together, profoundly demonstrating the difficult and tortuous paths taken by ordinary people during the historical progress of a great era. Comrades, when will spring arrive? I personally believe that when the author writes of Xiao Cao burning herself to death in winter at the end, what is being implied? 'The wild fire cannot burn it out; the spring breeze will bring it back to life.' Winter has arrived, can spring be far behind? What time is it now? The spring breeze of reform and opening up is blowing across the land, and the grand plan of the Four Modernizations is leaping onto a thousand-mile steed! Comrades! Spring has already arrived!"

In an instant, the cramped office erupted in thunderous applause. After two days of circulation, almost every editor in the department had read *Fragrant Grass*. After today’s discussion, everyone realized that a masterpiece was about to rise within their own magazine.

"Chen Shanshan! You are in charge of the follow-up. I want to see Teacher Cheng, the author of *Fragrant Grass*, in Jiangcheng within a week!" After the meeting, Yang pointed directly at Chen Shanshan.

"Yes, Editor-in-Chief! I will write to Teacher Cheng immediately!" Chen Shanshan stood up at once, speaking with gravity. As a top student from Wuhan University’s Chinese department, she had become a loyal fan after reading the book. If there had been more copies, she would have read it several more times!

...

Meanwhile, at the Jiangcheng Song and Dance Theater on Liberation Avenue:

"Xiaoli! You have a letter! From Beijing!"

"It was sent by someone named Cheng Kaiyan!"

"Giggle! Could it be a secret admirer?"

"Exactly, that must be it!"