[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-rising-in-1979":3,"chapter-rising-in-1979-rising-in-1979-chapter-43":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Rising in 1979",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2260751,4412,"Chapter 43: Yannan Garden and the Cat (Requesting Monthly Tickets!)","rising-in-1979-chapter-43",43,"\u003Cp>In a military camp on the outskirts of Beijing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Feng Xiaogang, a propaganda officer of the Tank Sixth Division, was searching through newspapers in the reading room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liang Tian, who had recently been transferred to the propaganda unit for his writing skills, came over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What are you up to?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, Brother Tian,” Feng Xiaogang said, though he was a year older than Liang Tian, he knew Liang’s family was well-connected, so he willingly took the younger role, “I saw a really funny novel in yesterday’s paper—I was just about to read the next part.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What paper?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Wen Hui Bao.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liang Tian reached into the pile and pulled out today’s Wen Hui Bao.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Feng Xiaogang gave a thumbs-up: “As the old saying goes, small eyes gather light—your vision is amazing.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liang Tian rolled his eyes—you could just praise me straight, why insult my small eyes?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fortunately, he wasn’t petty, and asked: “What novel?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This one—‘The Ducks Know First the Warmth of Spring Waters.’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liang Tian glanced at it and saw the author’s name.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hey, Wei Ming?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What? Is he famous? I’ve never heard of him,” Feng Xiaogang said—he was an avid reader and had memorized the names of all the new writers who’d emerged in the past year since he enlisted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If it’s the Wei Ming I know, he’s not famous yet—but who knows what’ll happen later.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh? So he’s a hidden dragon?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liang Tian: “That’s a good phrase—maybe he really is a hidden dragon.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he told Feng Xiaogang what he’d heard from his mother and older brother about Wei Ming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His stories were published in Shou Huo, he could write a poem in seven steps, and the key point—he was just a gatekeeper!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Feng Xiaogang, a cunning little man, lit up with excitement—this was so inspiring! So talent, no matter how humble the origin, would never be buried!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then Liang Tian asked him: “How’s the novel written?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Feng Xiaogang, who had only thought it decently impressive, immediately said: “It’s incredible—unique style, packed with punchlines, and it uses small things to reveal big truths. It’s about selling goods, but I feel it’s really about reform and opening-up.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Feng Xiaogang had sharp eyes—he’d only read a third of it, but already guessed Wei Ming’s hidden intent buried in the final third.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he pulled out yesterday’s Wen Hui Bao and handed it to Liang Tian; the two sat side by side reading.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After half a day of training, Wei Ming understood his patrol duties: if nothing happens, do nothing; if something happens, handle everything.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But in this era, there were no surveillance cameras, so occasionally slacking off didn’t matter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At noon, he bought a pack of cigarettes from the school canteen, and as he headed toward the staff dining hall, he ran into Liu Zhenyun.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, you’re finally back! You haven’t forgotten about treating me to dinner, have you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His urgent tone made it sound like Wei Ming was supposed to treat him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I remember. Right now?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, right now!” The girls were already impatient.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, Liu Zhenyun dragged Wei Ming to the No. 1 Dining Hall—Wei Ming’s first time eating in the student cafeteria. Though he was now comfortably off, he believed every meal saved was a meal gained.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dressed in his uniform, he immediately drew attention; people whispered among themselves.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is that the gate god of Nantianmen?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The great poet who wrote ‘Ideal’?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I heard he just came back from Shanghai—Old Ba himself named him the literary heir…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though not a Peking University student, Wei Ming had clearly become a campus celebrity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By lottery, the one who invited him to dinner today was Wang Xiaoping of the ’77 Chinese Department, a native of Yanjing and a future famous screenwriter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming loved her work “Scraping,” which portrayed East-West cultural conflict, but what he watched most was “Empresses in the Palace”—though based on a novel, the screenplay was indispensable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He watched it on TV, then on Douyin: today, Empress Zhen Huan gunned down the harem, tomorrow, Consort Hua began cultivating to dominate the court, the day after, the Empress learned black magic—this drama never grew old.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unexpectedly, Wang Xiaoping didn’t ask what he wanted to eat, but asked if he could write a poem in seven steps right now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No, I told you—I have no inspiration. Not even a poem, I can’t even let out a fart.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The great poet and writer spoke so crudely—he was so unique! Then the two lined up together to get food; Liu Zhenyun crossed Wang Xiaoping off his little notebook—one down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun ate plainly: a dime’s worth of fried tofu and a steamed bun. When Wei Ming and Wang Xiaoping got their food, he gestured for them to sit at his table.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he swallowed hard—a serving of braised pork, a bowl of rice, and an extra four-joy meatball!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That had to cost at least five dimes—and Wang Xiaoping showed no hesitation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Xiaoping was curious about Wei Ming’s experience revising his manuscript in Shanghai; she listened as he described meeting Old Ba and receiving a personally signed copy of “The Newborn,” and felt deeply envious.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun envied Wei Ming’s stomach—he couldn’t help asking: “Do you think these four-joy meatballs aren’t pure meat? Maybe they’re mixed with flour?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming: “Let me taste.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He picked up a chopstick: “There’s starch, tofu, and egg—but mostly meat.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After speaking, he quickly ate all four of the meatballs, and Liu Zhenyun chose to look away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After finishing the meal and parting with satisfied Wang Xiaoping, Liu Zhenyun flipped through his little notebook: “Tonight’s dinner invite is…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m busy tonight—I made plans with my dorm mates to eat out.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, then tomorrow lunch…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Tomorrow lunch won’t work—I’m going out tomorrow, but I’m free tonight.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Alright, then dinner tomorrow.” Liu Zhenyun carefully scheduled Wei Ming’s meals.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Brother Zhenyun, if you don’t mind we’re all guards, come along with us—more people, more fun.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Huh? You’re going out to eat? Where?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The Long March Dining Hall.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun instinctively swallowed—let alone the Long March Dining Hall, he’d never even eaten meat dishes in the school cafeteria.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once, passing by the Long March Dining Hall, he smelled the aroma from outside and went back to eat an extra steamed bun.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still, he refused immediately: “I won’t go—it’s too expensive.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One meal there equals three meals at school.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You don’t pay—I’m treating you. Just bring your mouth and your food coupons.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then I definitely won’t go—I don’t accept favors without earning them.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming: “Then you’re looking down on guards.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Wei Ming provoke him, Liu Zhenyun reluctantly said: “To prove the unity of workers and peasants, that we’re all class brothers—I’m going, no choice.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Besides, he’d been frequenting the South Gate lately and had already become familiar with Zhao Debiao and Mei Wenhua—no strangers there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After parting with Liu Zhenyun, Wei Ming went to find his senior mentor to begin his first official patrol.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The two first arrived at the Yannan Garden villa district.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the southern part of Peking University’s campus, near the main dining hall, lay a special area enclosed by a short wall, slightly elevated from its surroundings, covering 48 mu, with 17 historic buildings built of gray brick, numbered 50 to 66—this was Yannan Garden.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It housed the university’s top professors and scholars, making it the highest priority for patrols; Wei Ming had only passed by before, never entered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The senior pointed to No. 66: “This is where Professor Zhu Guangqian lives. Previously, Bing Xin’s family lived here. Professor Zhu is now eighty-two, his health has declined greatly, but he still insists on mentoring graduate students.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No. 62 is where Professor Lin Geng lives—a Chinese Department professor and poet. If you meet him, introduce yourself—he’ll probably drag you into a poetry discussion.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No. 61 is where the geographer Professor Hou Renzhi lives—he’s also the head of the Geography Department. He’s currently away, researching deserts in the Western Frontier.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he pointed to No. 56: “This is the home of our president, Professor Zhou Peiyuan—he’s a physicist specializing in mechanics.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming listened with a smile as his senior recounted each courtyard and each scholar’s story—he could see the senior’s deep love for Peking University; every detail was known by heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just then, someone called out: “Meier, come down~”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The senior hurried Wei Ming over to the outside of No. 57.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Old Feng, wait—I’ll go get a ladder!” the senior said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There stood an old man with a white beard, leaning on a cane beneath a tree; perched on the branches was a beautiful long-haired white cat, yowling anxiously in a shrill, high-pitched voice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming smiled faintly, rolled up his sleeves: “Why bother with a ladder?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1455,"2026-06-19T16:30:57.111Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","401e3873819256cab3bf2b51aebe8dd0b50b4b8c4729ef487ab690a5272e65ed","rising-in-1979-chapter-44","rising-in-1979-chapter-42",509,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Frising-in-1979-cover.jpg"]