Chapter 80: Post-Heaven!?

"Do you want some stamps?"
The clerk held up two eight-cent stamps, their design featuring Tiananmen Square, the edges still bearing fresh imprint marks. "These just came in, much nicer than those with workers, peasants, and soldiers."
"Yes, please!"
Domestic postcards required an eight-cent stamp; in 1979, the postage for regular letters and postcards within China was standardized at eight cents.
This standard remained through the 1990s, and stamps had to be affixed to the upper right corner of the postcard.
For international mail, higher-value stamps were needed according to global postal rates.
Sending to neighboring Asian countries usually required forty cents; to Europe or America, seventy cents.
After carefully applying a dab of glue to the stamp, Xu Chengjun meticulously pressed it onto the top right corner of his postcard.
"I wonder if the postcard will reach home before I do," he mused, shaking his head, then called out to the clerk,
"Sister, could I have a regular envelope for submitting manuscripts?"
In those days, envelopes came in two types: regular and airmail.
He planned to send four poems—"Foxtail Grass on the Hillside," "Slices of Everyday Life," "Look," and "Imagination"—all at once to Poetry Magazine.
Since its revival in 1976, Poetry Magazine had become the core stronghold of the poetry world.
Not only was their publication swift, but their reach was wide; for poets like Xu Chengjun who had already published works, a reply could come in as little as half a month.
Moreover, Poetry Magazine was a monthly, meaning the fastest possible appearance in print would be August.
During the late 1970s surge of "Obscure Poetry," early works by Bei Dao, Gu Cheng, and others entered the public eye through Poetry Magazine, sparking widespread debate.
If all went well, August and September could bring Xu Chengjun an explosive period of literary publications.
As for "Thirty New Faces," that was a supplementary anthology.
One new poem, "Time," was enough for that.
Earning the manuscript fee again was a delightful prospect!
But for expanding influence, Poetry Magazine was the better choice.
Before coming, Liu Zuci had also advised him to submit any new poems to Poetry Magazine.
Liu Zuci: ?
Xu Chengjun carefully wrote his full address and name at the bottom of his submission, slipping a ten-cent stamp inside.
What for? To facilitate a return if rejected.
Without a stamp, they wouldn’t send a reply.
Xu Chengjun chose registered mail, which cost eight cents more than regular post.
He didn’t mind the extra eight cents now.
A man with money!
The green mailbox outside the post office was faded, the metal around the mail slot gleaming from constant use.
Xu Chengjun slid the postcard and envelope in one by one, the soft scrape of paper against metal sounding like secret whispers to distant friends.
Speaking of which,

In those years, postcards served as a form of "light communication."
In 1979, Ba Jin had just resumed writing after the turmoil, settling in Shanghai.
He corresponded with Cao Yu and Shen Congwen; since long-distance calls were not common, postcards became a "time-saving and cost-effective" option.
In a letter to a friend, he once wrote, "My health has improved a bit lately, so I’m sending you an autumn postcard of Shanghai; consider it my greeting."
...
On his way back to the dorm for the educated youth, Xu Chengjun stopped to buy gifts for Hefei, Xujia Village, and home.
He bought a fine horse in the east market, a saddle and blanket in the west market.
For Mr. Su, Old Zhou, Liu Zuci, his father, Teacher Xu, and Zhao Gang, he picked up several packs of Shanghai-brand cigarettes at the state-run store.
Barely enough for one carton each.
Ten packs per carton, priced at 4.8 yuan plus industrial coupons.
Not cheap at all.
But these people were worth it!
Fortunately, he hadn’t spent much of his travel money, and the manuscript fee for "Fitting Room Mirror" had come in, with more fees steadily supporting Xu Chengjun’s generous ways.
The sunlight on East Nanjing Road made the plane tree leaves shine.
Xu Chengjun, carrying his canvas bag, wove through the crowds in the department store, the bag already half-full with White Rabbit milk candies and four boxes of Butterfly brand snow cream.
White Rabbit candies were enough for everyone, snow cream could go to his mother, sister, Zhai Ying, and Xinghua.
He finished by buying Gaoqiao pancakes and Five-spice beans, another half-bag’s worth.
Both were classic Shanghai gifts for returning home in those years.
Now his money was nearly gone; Xu Chengjun smacked his lips, thinking: Well, even the tea for Old Wang will have to be downgraded. I’ll just have to charm him with sweet words.
It was just a complaint; in the end, he still bought Wang Zengqi the best tea he could afford.
Wang Zengqi gave good gifts, so his return shouldn’t be poor!
Still, he had to be frugal; the rest of the money was needed for train tickets. He couldn’t ride the roof home—this wasn’t a sequel to "Railway Guerrillas!"
Did he really think this was a country like India?
...
That evening, Xu Chengjun returned to the Writers’ Federation guesthouse.
He simply couldn’t muster the energy for another trip to Fudan.
Travel was tough! Truly tough!
First thing to do for school: buy a car!
As soon as he reached the guesthouse entrance, someone waved at him.
Li Xiaolin.
"Chengjun! At last, I’ve caught the great writer! Bringing you a sample issue was no easy feat."
The moment they met, Li Xiaolin’s face was full of playful teasing.
"Not at all, Sister Xiaolin. These days, there’s been so much fuss at Fudan, and now I’m nearly home, just picking up some things for the family."

Xu Chengjun spoke earnestly.
He’d need her help in the future; sending something domestically, "Harvest" was a banner publication.
"You—are you leaving already? How’s Fudan?"
"Thanks to you, it's gone quite well." Xu Chengjun straightened his back, waiting for praise.
"I'll be starting my first year of graduate studies in Chinese at Fudan."
"What do you mean, thanks to me? It's all your own doing—starting university..."
"What do you mean, thanks to me—it's all your own..." Li Xiaolin was about to offer some words of encouragement, but suddenly froze, her eyes wide. "Wait, what did you say? What are you starting?"
She doubted her own hearing, rubbing her ears: "Say it again? First year of graduate school?"
Li Xiaolin had originally planned to get closer to Xu Chengjun, hoping to share some wisdom from her own university days, but what was this?
Graduate school?
Impossible! At least it shouldn’t be!
How could her ears fail so badly?
She was just over thirty, not eighty!
Xu Chengjun nodded, adding, "I skipped undergraduate and went straight to graduate."
"Well, damn!" Li Xiaolin slapped Xu Chengjun’s shoulder, hard.
"You must have ridden ‘The East is Red’ up here, huh? When I went to university it was a struggle, but you—skipped undergrad altogether?"
She looked Xu Chengjun up and down, as if examining some rare specimen. "I was just thinking of giving you tips for choosing courses, and now I have to call you Graduate Xu?"
Just a few days ago, she thought he was odd; now it turned out he wasn’t pretending at all.
"Don’t call me graduate student—call me doctor! Who knows, maybe I’ll get my doctorate before school starts."
"Well... maybe?"
No, sister, there aren’t any doctoral programs nationwide yet. What are you on about?
Getting swept up in the nonsense, huh.
"Sister, are you opening a doctoral program for me?"
"Thank you, sister! What an honor!"
Xu Chengjun had no other flaws; he’d go along with any joke, calling her sister as smoothly as anyone.
"Get out!" Li Xiaolin laughed, giving him a playful punch. "Take your sample issue."
"This issue of 'Harvest' will be published a few days early, but I can’t tell you why."
"When?"
"The day after tomorrow!"
"The day after tomorrow...?"