CHAPTER 222: ENCOUNTER ZHAO CHUN AND OBJECT ON ROUTE 212 (1)

Tian Sangsang took out a piece of white manuscript paper and, under the light, began writing densely packed words with a fountain pen. It felt as if she had returned to many years ago, back when she was still a student, doing homework every day with a black ink pen, writing word by word. She was utterly entranced by writing, loving not only calligraphy but also the act of writing on the blackboard with chalk, where people always complimented her, saying, "Your writing is so beautiful." Those days were so gentle. Even though she often worked with a computer later on, typing away on a keyboard, she never forgot her habit of writing by hand. Some things can never be replaced by a computer.

"When people saw the siblings trading their mother’s beautiful clothes for rice and fetching water from the well, they immediately knew they lived in the air-raid shelter. Yet no one came to check on them."

"They collected dry branches to cook meals, and when salt ran out, they fetched seawater. Though they sometimes endured strafing from fighter planes along the way, their lives were relatively peaceful. At night, fireflies kept watch. They grew accustomed to the rhythms of the shelter, morning and evening."

"Despite their resolve to eat properly, their mother’s clothes had long been sold. On the black market, an egg cost three yuan, a liter of oil one hundred yuan, half a pound of beef twenty yuan, and a liter of rice twenty-five yuan. Without connections, they could only sigh helplessly. Because they lived near the city, even the farmers had become very cunning. They refused to sell rice for money, so the siblings soon resorted to eating porridge mixed with soybeans once again."

...

"The younger sister suffered from persistent diarrhea. The skin on her right side was so pale it was almost transparent, while her left side was covered in festering scabs. Washing with seawater made her cry out in pain. When they sought help from a doctor at the train station, he merely said, ’You need to improve your nutrition.’ He perfunctorily placed the stethoscope on her chest and didn’t even prescribe any medicine."

"Speaking of nutrition, it would mean fish, egg yolks, butter, and malted milk. Qingtai recalled the good times of the past: Coming home from school to find Shanghai-made chocolate in the mailbox, sent by his father. If they had diarrhea, they would grate an apple, squeeze the juice through gauze, and drink it."

"It all seemed like a distant memory, though in truth, just last year the family still lacked for nothing. No, it was only two months ago that their mother had boiled peaches in syrup and opened a can of crab meat for everyone to eat. Things like sweetened red bean jelly left uneaten because they didn’t like sweets, or foreign bento boxes with smelly rice that were thrown away, or the tasteless vegetarian meals at Huangbo Mountain Wanfu Temple, or the indigestible noodle lumps—for her, it all felt like a dream now."

...

As Tian Sangsang wrote, her eyes reddened without her realizing it. The little girl in the story was so young, barely older than her own son. If she imagined the deceased child as her own son, her heart ached even more.

"Knock, knock."

"Come in."

Jiang Jinghuai pushed open the door, dressed in a set of camouflage pajamas. His tall figure leaned against the doorframe. In a low, lazy voice, he asked, "Not going to sleep?"

Noticing her reddened eyes, he added, "Something troubling you?"

"Not really." Tian Sangsang sniffed and covered the manuscript paper with her book. In a soft voice, she said, "I was just working on a novel. Writing it moved me to tears. I must be a great author. Only by moving myself can I move others."

Jiang Jinghuai froze for a moment, his deep eyes glinting faintly. Writing a novel, her?

"Planning to submit it for publication, then?"

Tian Sangsang stood up, turned off the light, and followed him back to the bedroom. "Yes, I believe I can do it. Besides, once Yanyan’s foot heals, I’ll need to find a job. I can’t just rely on you to support us."

Staying at home without work was too boring for her; she couldn’t sit still. Ideally, she wanted to balance raising her child with her work. Besides, a woman without her own money would have nowhere to cry when she gets abandoned in the future. Especially since she and Jiang Jinghuai weren’t truly married in the conventional sense.

Jiang Jinghuai made a light sound of agreement. "I respect your decision. Besides, you should have your own personal life."

Tian Sangsang looked at him in surprise, not expecting him to be so easy to talk to. "Alright, thank you."

Back then, unlike later times, submitting manuscripts couldn’t simply be done by email. Of course, this was also an era that revered reading; text was mainly published in newspapers and magazines, often serialized. It wasn’t like twenty years later when content became progressively shorter, shifting from long novels to blog posts, to tweets, to status updates, to WeChat messages, to images, and then to short videos or even live streaming.

Once the novel was ready, Tian Sangsang found a newspaper that serialized *Heroic Legend of the Condor Heroes*: *Huaxia Novel*. It was a national publication, ranking among the top in later literary history, with editions sold in every province and city. At the top was *Huaxia Literature*, but *Huaxia Novel* had a narrower focus, limited to novels, unlike *Huaxia Literature*, which covered a broader range.

After checking the layout, she saw that *Huaxia Novel* offered diverse styles of fiction. Wuxia novels were relatively few, with most works being scar-filled reflective literature, somewhat akin to the mid-length novel *Silent Snow Falls on the Yellow River*. The address for the editorial office was in the city, so Tian Sangsang decided to deliver her manuscript in person.

Getting to the editorial office required a bus ride, and at that time, one bus stop cost a mere penny. When she reached the entrance of the family compound, Tian Sangsang spotted a stylish woman ahead of her. The woman wore a fitted, waist-cinching pink mid-length dress that hugged her hips. Her silhouette was lithe and elegant, strikingly beautiful. It seemed she, too, was from the military region, walking slowly. Pushing the wheelchair, Tian Sangsang quickly caught up to her.

The woman seemed to sense someone behind her. She turned her haughty gaze back, her face partially hidden by large sunglasses, making her expression hard to read. However, the smirk at the corner of her lips suggested ridicule.

This hostility was blatant and unmasked.

Tian Sangsang recognized her as Ji Yao’er, Li Qiong’er’s cousin. And Lu Chi was her brother-in-law.

On the bus, the two ended up on the same vehicle. At the stop, much to her surprise, they got off at the same place.

Since they weren’t on the same path, Tian Sangsang didn’t pay too much attention. She carried her letter and headed for the editorial office building. Reportedly, *Huaxia Novel* used to be part of *Huaxia Literature*, but after splitting this year, it became a bit lackluster. This current edition only gained traction thanks to Li Yibai, who made an exceptional debut. Whether the novel sold well or not, market response was critical. At the time, there was an immense hunger for literature among the public; it was an era of flourishing creativity, with diverse voices thriving. Serious literature was immensely popular, while light novels were also highly sought after.

The streets of the 1980s were still spacious. Tian Sangsang pushed Meng Shuyan along, glancing at the surrounding buildings as they walked.

"Chun Zisu!" Meng Shuyan exclaimed in surprise.

"Mom, it’s Chun Zisu!"

It had been so long since she’d heard those words that Tian Sangsang froze for a moment. Only when she saw her son’s delighted expression did she slowly look across the street.

Across the street stood a group of young people, probably college students. Among them was the flamboyantly dressed Zhao Chun, accompanied by two young men dressed with similarly eccentric taste. Oversized sunglasses, voluminous hair, and clothing that leaned toward the unconventional. A woman beside Zhao Chun was speaking to him, her smile vibrant. There was an undeniable undercurrent between the two. Were they courting?