Chapter 59 Liu Xiaoli: Excuse me, who are you?

Cheng Kaiyan first went to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat before returning to the guesthouse to take in the clothes and quilts that Liu Xiaoli had set out to dry in the afternoon.

As dusk fell, he leaned against the bed, pen and paper in hand, writing.

"Knock, knock, knock!"

At that moment, a knock came from outside the door, followed by a man's voice calling out, "Kaiyan, are you in?"

Cheng Kaiyan got up to open the door and found Chief Editor Yang standing there.

"I have something to discuss with you."

Yang Shu'an stamped his feet at the threshold, stubbed out the cigarette butt in his mouth, and then stepped into the room, cutting straight to the point. "The director had a talk with me today. He wants to meet you, mainly to discuss *Fragrant Grass*. Do you have time these days?"

"The director? I'm free anytime during this period." Cheng Kaiyan nodded.

"It's nothing too serious. Just a meeting to chat about the specific details of publishing *Fragrant Grass*, and to pool our ideas on how to quickly establish a presence for it in Hubei Province and boost its reputation. After all, this novel is not only a work that will make a name for you, Cheng Kaiyan, but it is also the key to the survival of the *Fragrant Grass* magazine."

Yang Shu'an said in a deep voice. Ever since sales of *Fragrant Grass* began to slide over the past two months, the magazine's leadership had expressed their dissatisfaction. For him, a deputy chief editor, moving up was out of the question—even holding onto his current position was becoming a problem.

The sudden appearance of *Fragrant Grass* now offered a glimmer of hope.

Desperate to make *Fragrant Grass* an overnight sensation, Yang Shu'an's eyes were bloodshot; he was ready to go to any lengths.

"That's simple enough. Either we run advertisements, or we get well-known literary figures to review it in advance and release news about *Fragrant Grass* ahead of time."

"Ah, that's brilliant! Let me write that down." Yang Shu'an was overjoyed.

Before he could finish writing, however, he heard Cheng Kaiyan add:

"Oh, by the way, Chief Editor Yang, do you remember that poem 'Xiaoli' that Song Jingming wrote for Xiaoli? It's actually a song. I was thinking we could record this song and have it played on a loop twenty-four hours a day on the radio broadcast. With that, why worry about a lack of fame?"

"That's a song? You can write songs too?" Yang Shu'an looked at Cheng Kaiyan in utter shock. He had never realized it was a song.

***

Early the next morning.

Cheng Kaiyan accompanied Chief Editor Yang to meet the director of the publishing house.

The director's surname was Wang. He looked to be in his fifties with a square face. According to Chief Editor Yang, Leader Wang was the municipal official in charge of cultural affairs, and the role of publishing house director was just a concurrent title he held; he was usually very busy.

After listening to the proposal, Leader Wang nodded in satisfaction. "Comrade Xiao Cheng's suggestions are quite good. There's no precedent for broad advertising, and newsprint cannot be used for private purposes. However, this idea of recording a song is excellent, and I think it's worth a try. Go ahead and do it boldly; I'll have someone make the arrangements later. You two go back and wait for notification."

"Understood, Leader."

Having received their answer, the two turned and left.

With his manuscript revisions completed, Cheng Kaiyan had virtually nothing left to do, so he asked Chief Editor Yang for quite a few theater tickets. Over the next few days, he would occasionally go to watch performances or observe Liu Xiaoli and the others training.

Cheng Kaiyan would bring some snacks along, and through repeated visits, he became quite familiar with Liu Xiaoli's friends.

After midday, he would take Liu Xiaoli back to the guesthouse to read, and gradually, the two grew closer and more familiar with each other.

Liu Xiaoli read very slowly, taking several days just to finish the first volume, and as a result, she cried her eyes out.

***

On January 29th, the weather was overcast and gloomy.

Wuhan University, French Department Office.

"Whew... The exams are finally graded. At least I can rest for a while now." An Shaokang finished grading the test papers and let out a long stretch.

He came from a medical family; his father was the deputy party secretary of the Wuhan Medical College, and his mother was the party secretary of Tongji Hospital affiliated with Tongji Medical College of HUST.

After growing up, he was admitted to the Foreign Languages Department of Wuhan University, pursued graduate studies after graduation, and began serving as a lecturer in the French Department in 1977. Over the years, he had achieved many results in his teaching and academic research, including translating the Changjiang Arts Publishing House edition of *The Hunchback of Notre-Dame*. In addition, a paper he wrote last year had also caused a stir in academic circles.

As a newly appointed associate professor in the French Department at the age of 28 this year, An Shaokang taught several extra courses, such as French language, French literature appreciation, and French writing.

Thus, unsurprisingly, ever since returning from his studies in Beijing, he had been grading exams continuously until now.

"Shaokang, how about going to the theater to see a play today?" a bespectacled man in his thirties invited with a smile.

"Sure. I'm quite tired these days anyway, so going to the theater will be just the thing to relax." An Shaokang laughed heartily. For some reason, the image of a young girl suddenly flashed through his mind.

Comrade Liu Xiaoli probably hadn't gone home for the Chinese New Year yet, right?

He had started going to the Wuhan Song and Dance Theater to watch performances last year. At the time, the school would distribute some performance tickets, and initially, he always thought they were boring—until a friend dragged him along one time. That was when An Shaokang learned that the reason they were so enjoyable was because the Wuhan Song and Dance Theater boasted many female dancers of exceptional poise, temperament, and beauty.

This also led to groups of knowledgeable, cultured young men in Wuhan, who pursued the freedom to love, frequently gathering to watch performances at the theater.

It was a pity the theater only held public performances on weekends or major holidays.

And it was precisely during last year's National Day that An Shaokang caught sight of that girl in the crowd who looked like a fairy from the snow and ice. From that single glance, he fell deeply and hopelessly in love.

After making inquiries through various channels, he learned that the girl was named Liu Xiaoli, came from Harbin, and was only nineteen years old.

Consequently, An Shaokang developed a habit: barring emergencies, he would go to watch the song and dance theater's performances almost every weekend. He would be overjoyed when Liu Xiaoli performed, and crestfallen when she didn't.

During that time, he had also sent flowers a few times through the staff, but she merely treated him as an ordinary spectator.

The two of them finished tidying up and went out into the rain with their umbrellas.

Wuhan University and the Wuhan Song and Dance Theater were separated by the Yangtze River, a considerable distance apart. By the time they reached the theater, the shoulders of his clothes were already soaked, yet An Shaokang never tired of it.

True to expectations, even in the rain, the theater was quite crowded.

In those days, televisions were not widespread, and the daily recreational entertainment for the people of Wuhan was scarce; operas, plays, and dance dramas remained very popular.

Of course, playing mahjong counted as well.

People in Wuhan, regardless of gender or age, played mahjong in droves. Perhaps they didn't play when they were young, but once they reached a certain age and sat down at the table, dragging them away was impossible.

An Shaokang and his friend found seats in the front row, holding a flower in his hand—he intended to give it to Liu Xiaoli.

"Shaokang, I must say you aren't so young anymore; it's about time you settled down and got married. Why haven't you found anyone? With your personal conditions—an associate professor, cultured, and romantic—I notice the female teachers and even the female students at school all look at you differently." His friend teased with a smile.

"None of them are who I like. No matter what, marriage requires choosing someone you genuinely love. Now that the reform and opening up is underway, the old-fashioned arranged marriages don't suit our generation of higher-educated youth; we advocate for free love." An Shaokang said with a smile, his eyes fixed intently on the stage.

Today's performance program included Liu Xiaoli.

"Look! It's Liu Xiaoli, Hu Yanzhang, and that group of young dancers!"

A song began to play, "Ode to the Red Plum."

*On the Red Crag, red plums bloom,*
*Thousands of miles of ice and frost are trampled beneath our feet.*
*What is there to fear of the severe cold of the depths of winter,*
*With a single loyal heart turning toward the sun, turning toward the sun!*

Moving to the music were not only the dancers on stage, but also An Shaokang in the audience. He clearly saw that girl in the crowd, resembling an elf beneath the moon.

Step by step, as if treading on the tip of his heart, causing a thrilling tremor within him.

Taking advantage of a brief intermission, An Shaokang quickly took out a pen and wrote a short poem on a piece of paper, then hurried with the flowers to the backstage corridor, where he was stopped by a staff member.

"Hello, I'd like to look for Comrade Liu Xiaoli..."

An Shaokang noticed a young man standing nearby, though the light outside was too dim to make out his face clearly. He didn't pay much attention, however; he had always been a very confident person. He believed that Comrade Liu Xiaoli would undoubtedly be overjoyed upon seeing this bouquet of flowers and this poem.

Just like the young female teachers and students at school who often loved reading the poetry he wrote.

"Why are so many people looking for Liu Xiaoli?" the staff member muttered a few words before heading backstage to call her.

Before long, a pretty girl in a dance costume walked out with a smile on her face.

"Comrade Liu Xiaoli, these are the flowers and poem I brought for you..." An Shaokang felt a surge of joy and stepped forward to greet her, only for the two of them to brush past each other.

He hurriedly turned his head, only to see the girl walking over to stand prettily beside that young man, her hands clasped behind her back, chatting and laughing cheerfully. Their relationship seemed quite intimate.

In an instant, An Shaokang's heart contracted sharply, as if shattering.

Yet, rallying his confidence once more, he stepped forward and repeated, "Comrade Liu Xiaoli, these are the flowers and poem I brought for you. I hope you like them..."

"Excuse me, who are you?"

Soon enough, An Shaokang heard the girl's cool, emotionless voice asking in confusion.

*Crack...*

Now his heart truly shattered...