1979 Gold Age

Chapter 8 The Way of Life 2

Early the next morning, Chen Qi skipped work again.

Starting from Menkuang Hutong, he headed north along the central axis, passing the Forbidden City, Beihai, and Shichahai, all the way to the HD district. Thunder and lightning filled the sky, and passersby couldn’t help but pity him as he pedaled his old 28-inch bicycle with all his might—who would treat a bike like that?

Chen Qi snorted coldly. "Others might cherish their bikes, but I ride standing up!"

"Not only do I stand up, I also ‘ride through the frame’!"

What is "riding through the frame"? It’s how kids ride bikes when they’re too short—their legs can’t reach properly, so they squeeze through the frame to pedal.

The journey wasn’t short—about 12 kilometers in total. By the time he reached the Jimen Bridge on the North Third Ring Road, he was in an area home to Beijing Film Academy and Beijing Film Studio. This area was also packed with universities—Beijing University of Posts and Telecommunications, Beijing Normal University, and Beihang University were all nearby. A little further was Zhichun Road—Commander Yao’s old battleground!

Beijing Film Studio’s third site was here, the most familiar one, built in the Soviet architectural style. At the entrance stood the studio’s emblematic statue—a trio of workers, peasants, and soldiers.

Twenty years later, some guy named Wang Baoqiang would come here and camp out, waiting for an opportunity…

Chen Qi parked his bike, walked to the security office, knocked on the window, and called out, "Hello, sir!"

"Who are you looking for?" the old man asked.

"I'm here to submit a manuscript. I live in the southern part of the city and figured bringing it myself would be faster—no need to trouble the postman."

The old man took the kraft paper envelope and glanced at it without much expression. This kind of thing was common. He was about to set it aside when the young man suddenly handed him half a pack of cigarettes, grinning cheekily. "Sir, have a smoke. I appreciate your help!"

"Alright, just leave it here."

The cigarettes were Da Qianmen, costing 3.2 cents a pack—his father, Chen Jianjun, had stashed them away, and he had swiped them.

Da Qianmen was a mid-range brand. At this time, Zhonghua cigarettes came in two sizes—large Zhonghua at 7.2 cents a pack and small Zhonghua at 6.2 cents a pack, mostly for special supply. Tianjin had a brand called Hengda—yes, Hengda—which also sold for 3.2 cents a pack.

The old man was practical—cigarettes made things move faster.

He grabbed a small blackboard and quickly wrote: "Literature Department: Submission for ‘Film Creation’!"

"Thank you, sir!"

Chen Qi hopped on his bike and took off again, speeding to the offices of China Youth Daily, where he submitted another article, The Road of Life. He didn’t send it to People's Daily—they might not publish this kind of piece. But China Youth Daily? They definitely would; it aligned with their readership.

At this time, China Youth Daily had a circulation of two million, the largest in the country.

He spent the entire morning delivering manuscripts, finishing just before noon. He pedaled back along the central axis at a leisurely pace, stopping in front of the Chairman’s Memorial Hall.

On September 9, 1977, the memorial hall was completed and opened to the public.

In his past life, he had visited Beijing for the first time in 1998—he remembered clearly because it was during the World Cup. He had come with his family and visited the memorial hall, so he knew the layout:

The front hall had a seated statue of the Chairman, while the back hall housed the crystal coffin.

There was always a long line here. Many visitors were from out of town, coming on business trips, dressed in black, their expressions sorrowful—after all, he had only passed away three years ago.

Chen Qi stood outside for a while but didn’t go in.

Then he returned to the tea stall, grinning and apologizing to everyone, claiming he had a stomachache. Nobody minded—he had already made a name for himself yesterday.

There was still no news from Aunt Wang. Who knew if she was really trying to communicate, or just stalling? Either way, he had submitted his article.

China Youth Daily

Founded in 1951, the newspaper was temporarily shut down but resumed publication in 1978. As the official newspaper of the Communist Youth League, with a title written by the Chairman himself, it wielded significant influence.

The entire newsroom was in high spirits.

They had shown remarkable vision and boldness by unearthing a "banned book" from the tumultuous years: The Second Handshake. They had condensed it into a 60,000-character version and were serializing it, taking up a quarter of a page daily.

The response was overwhelming—demand skyrocketed. Every day, workplaces eagerly awaited the latest issue, newsstands saw long queues, and in one extreme case, a frenzied reader shattered a post office window in Shanghai.

This novel touched on leaders, intellectuals, romance, and international relations—all taboo topics at the time. The author had even been sentenced to death at one point. Fortunately, before the sentence was carried out, the Third Plenary Session of the Eleventh Central Committee was held.

Later, when the novel was published as a book, it sold over four million copies, a record that stood for many years.

"Xiao Li, what are you carrying?"

"Reader letters!"

"Another whole sack?"

"More than that!"

A young editor heaved a massive sack of letters onto the floor, wiped his brow, and then lugged in two more, panting. "I’m an editor, not a laborer!"

"It just shows how passionate our readers are!"

"Exactly! Even our circulation has gone up."

Everyone took pride in this—the highest circulation in the country. Who could argue with that?

"But The Second Handshake is about to finish serialization. What’s our next big hit?"

"How about articles on educated youth cooperatives? That’s the hottest topic right now."

"That works, but most of the pieces I’ve seen are too dry. We don’t want to sound like a government bulletin—readers want something vivid and heartfelt."

"I might have something…"

An older editor suddenly stood up, holding a letter. "It came in today. Have a look."

"Let me see!"

A young editor took it first. The title read: The Road of Life—Why Does It Keep Getting Narrower?

"A personal essay!"

He perked up. In the past, writing in a lyrical style was dangerous—no one dared. But now that a c***k had opened, emotions were flooding out. People were eager to express themselves and just as eager to read others’ expressions.

"I am 19 years old, just starting out in life, yet I already feel exhausted, as if I’ve reached a dead end.

As a child, I listened to stories of How Steel Was Tempered and The Diary of Lei Feng. Though I couldn’t fully grasp them, the tales of heroism kept me up at night.

I carefully copied Pavel’s famous words on the meaning of life into my diary:

‘When he recalls the past, he will not regret his wasted years, nor be ashamed of his lack of achievement…’

I copied it again when I filled my first diary.

Those words encouraged me countless times.

Then came the great upheaval… (omitted)

After returning to the city, I was assigned to a collective street cooperative. Twelve of us set up a tea stall near Qianmen, making a living on our own.

I long for truth, goodness, and beauty—but I am disappointed.

Society’s prejudice makes our little tea stall struggle. On our first day, we endured sneers and insults. Some factory workers mocked us, calling us vagrants and criminals, even singing ‘Abalagu’ at us…

A girl was brought to tears, but we were powerless.

…

I may not yet grasp the meaning of life, but I have learned one thing: having an inner spiritual sanctuary is crucial. It can be literature, painting, poetry, music—anything that belongs to us alone and that we love completely. It will give us strength.

For me, that sanctuary is literature—it is my light."

The letter circulated among the editors.

"Well?"

"It’s good—this will resonate."

"He mentioned the tea stall in Qianmen… Hey, send a reporter to interview them! I want this in tomorrow’s issue!"