Chapter 139: Readers Demand More

"Ding ding ding~"

After the class bell rang, Professor Zhou was just about to leave the podium when many students rushed forward, chasing him with questions.

Professor Zhou showed no impatience, patiently answering each student's queries.

After several students finished asking about their studies, Sun Xianjin suddenly asked: "Professor Zhou, I heard from upperclassmen that for a long time ahead, our focus will be on economic development? Is that true?"

Professor Zhou paused for a few seconds, then replied cautiously: "I believe it's possible. The recent congress discussed this issue—you students will have great opportunities ahead."

"So it's really true? That's fantastic!"

"."

Li Ye slung his backpack over his shoulder, sidestepped several excited students, and headed toward the library.

Li Ye knew better than anyone what the future held.

Under this epoch-making tide of change, economics students would indeed have great potential.

The "upperclassmen" Sun Xianjin referred to were, in fact, Li Ye himself.

These days, the highest-scoring students all flocked to popular majors like Chinese literature; these economics students, hearing they were about to catch a lucky break, couldn't help but be thrilled.

"Li Ye, wait a moment."

Class monitor Zhen Rongrong caught up from behind and asked: "You're leaving right after class again? Why not join the others in discussion? You're becoming too isolated—it's not good."

Li Ye smiled: "I'm not isolated. Look, I get along fine with most classmates—we joke and laugh together all the time."

"I just hate debating politics—it always turns into shouting matches, red-faced and pointless."

Since enrolling, Li Ye had heard from upperclassmen about the sharp criticisms between Qingbei and Jingda.

Jingda students mocked Qingda students as rigid—and indeed, Qingda's female students all had strict hairlength rules; everywhere you looked, it was nothing but bobbed haircuts.

Qingda students, in turn, looked down on Jingda students as lax, bureaucratic, and obsessed with politics.

Li Ye had experienced this firsthand—Jingda students now all seemed to carry a "take the world upon oneself" spirit.

For instance, just after the Twelfth Congress ended, that elder had proposed the "socialism with Chinese characteristics" theory, and they could debate it for hours on end, genuinely fired up.

But Li Ye always felt it was like three brothers with no more than ten thousand yuan in their pockets arguing whether to buy a Mercedes or a BMW—somewhat detached from reality.

Rather than arguing whether something was capitalist or not, it was better to get down to practical work—to increase national tax revenue and boost prosperity.

Zhen Rongrong paused, then whispered: "You can't say that. Our economic prospects are deeply tied to policy shifts."

"Everyone's just concerned—whether they can make greater contributions to the motherland."

Li Ye sighed: "Maybe. I do care about policy—but I think wasting time on talk is less useful than studying my major more deeply."

In truth, Li Ye paid closer attention to current policies than anyone else.

Just a few days ago, the elder met with Margaret Thatcher and clearly stated China's position on Hong Kong: it must return by '97.

That was the issue Li Ye cared about.

No one realized that the iron lady, hardened by years of global toughness, would collapse on the steps of the Great Hall.

No one foresaw that after 1984, "Pengcheng Speed" would shock the world.

Li Ye had prepared in Pengcheng largely to welcome the coming "Pengcheng Speed" phenomenon.

But if he could reach into Hong Kong a year or two earlier, it would be even better.

Zhen Rongrong had no idea what Li Ye was thinking—she only felt that since their earlier conflict, Li Ye had suddenly become "quiet"—either Ditou writing manuscripts or staring blankly, withdrawing from classmates.

It made her feel guilty.

"Where are you going, Li Ye?"

"I'm going to the post office to mail a letter."

"I'll come along—I want to check for new stamps. I'll walk with you and tell you something."

As they walked, Zhen Rongrong said: "Aren't you in any clubs?"

Li Ye replied: "Not yet. Why?"

Zhen Rongrong said: "You really should join one. Also, pay attention to class activities. You signed up for the 3000-meter race, but no one's seen you train lately. And…"

"These things affect your moral conduct score—it matters for your Youth League application and scholarships."

"You're the only one in our class who hasn't joined the Youth League. You dragging everyone down isn't good. I might sound harsh, but Professor Mu says it even worse!"

Zhen Rongrong rattled off a long list of Li Ye's "flaws," leaving him stunned.

So being an outstanding Jingda student required so many conditions?

Li Ye could only nod repeatedly, letting Zhen Rongrong believe her persuasion had worked, before she finally stopped.

Jingda had its own dedicated post office near the Grand Auditorium, where students could mail letters, subscribe to magazines, and collect stamps.

Today, the Jingda post office was packed—Li Ye needed to mail a thick manuscript, while Zhen Rongrong, a stamp collector, came to browse.

Li Ye said: "Ask if they still have monkey stamps—I think the printing's great; they might appreciate in value later."

But Zhen Rongrong replied: "I already have monkey stamps. Besides, you can't buy last year's stamps anymore!"

Li Ye had arrived in 1981 and only managed to collect a few 1980 monkey stamps at the Qingshui County post office.

But seeing the scene here at Jingda's post office, he guessed they had no stock left.

This place wasn't as deserted as Qingshui County's—people were actually lining up to mail letters.

Li Ye thought he should photograph this moment, to show future generations.

See how this tiny post office carried the longing of thousands of Jingda students for distant homes.

Only those who lived through this era understood the meaning of "a letter from home is worth ten thousand taels."

Especially those older students who entered a few years ago—they relied entirely on fragile letters to express love to their distant partners.

Five days to send, five days to reply—ten days for a round trip. If the reply didn't arrive on time, many would lie awake, dreaming of wives and children, weeping silently in bed.

For instance, the guy ahead of Li Ye had already bought his envelope and stamp, but suddenly unfolded his letter paper, pulled out a fountain pen, scribbled and rewrote for a long time before finally sealing and mailing it.

In later times, emails and WeChat allowed instant edits—but letters didn't offer that convenience.

Scribbles, smudges, crossed-out lines—eventually the page might look messy.

But the messier the letter, the more precious it became.

Because every word had been carefully weighed; between the lines, it dripped with longing.

Li Ye thought he saw something almost "devout" on that guy's face.

………

When it was Li Ye's turn to mail, a student behind him asked: "Brother, are you submitting a manuscript? This thickness—mid-length novel?"

Li Ye was filling out the recipient address and replied: "Yeah, hobby. Trying to earn some royalties."

"Hahaha, brother, you're optimistic," the guy chuckled kindly. "Freshman? Joined any clubs yet?"

"Not yet," Li Ye replied, puzzled. "How do you know I'm a freshman?"

Because Li Ye hadn't finished writing his address—only "Jingda" was written, no specific class.

The guy pointed at the address: "It's obvious. Only freshmen follow the address format the teachers give you. You could drop 'Jingcheng Xijiao' and still get it."

Li Ye looked down and couldn't help smiling.

"Jingcheng Haidian District, Jingcheng Xijiao, Jingda…" Wasn't that funny?

After struggling to get into the big city from the county, you end up in the western suburbs—like a village. Hahaha.

Li Ye laughed as he mailed his manuscript. The student behind him said: "Brother, wait a sec—I want to chat."

Li Ye nodded. Talking with an upperclassman might reveal useful insights.

The guy quickly finished and came out smiling: "I'm from the 1980 class, Ancient Literature. You?"

Li Ye smiled and extended his hand: "1982, World Economics. Li Ye."

"Hey, we're the same surname?" The guy shook his hand warmly. "I'm Li Huai. Come on, our Literature Society is meeting today—let me take you."

Li Ye hesitated: "I haven't decided to join any clubs yet. Besides, I don't write poetry or verse."

"Who says studying Ancient Literature means writing poetry?" Li Huai laughed. "We're all enthusiasts. Otherwise, why would I feel such an instant connection with you?"

"Besides, we're not kidnappers—we won't drag you in by force."

Li Ye finally understood why Li Huai had asked about the manuscript.

Since the guy had said so, Li Ye couldn't refuse face—so he followed Li Huai toward the Chinese Department.

After walking a few steps, Li Ye asked: "Senior, does your department have a Nakamura Naoto?"

"Yeah! Which class in Chinese Language and Literature? What's up?"

"Nothing. I found out at a dance party that we have a Japanese guy here too—just found it odd."

Li Ye smoothly deflected.

But after walking two steps, Li Huai hesitated: "Brother, if you want to befriend Nakamura, I won't take you to our Literature Society."

"."

Li Ye paused, then smiled slowly: "My grandfather killed Japanese soldiers. That's why I find it odd."

"You should've said so earlier," Li Huai slapped Li Ye's shoulder, walking beside him. "But don't show your feelings openly—Nakamura Naoto is close with Liu Chunbo, the deputy head of the Student Union."

"Which Liu deputy?"

"Liu Chunbo."

Ah, that matched.

………

Li Ye's manuscript left Jingcheng, traveled by train and truck, eight hundred kilometers, finally arriving at Lanhai Publishing House on the island.

"Editor-in-chief, a package from Qiucun Dao Feng—it's probably the manuscript."

"That's unusual—he's finally being prompt. If he kept dragging his feet like before, I'd have gone to chase him myself."

Dong Yuejin took the package, opened it, and confirmed it was the next installment of "The Howling North Wind."

With a casual flip, Dong Yuejin confirmed this issue contained at least thirty thousand characters.

"Excellent, excellent—this issue of New Wind will surely satisfy our readers. But even the finest steed needs a couple of whips."

Dong Yuejin smiled at his subordinate: "Xiao Lu, send all the readers' letters to Seven-Inch Blade, get that kid moving."

"Thirty thousand characters a month? That's not enough—minimum fifty thousand. We can afford to pay."

Xiao Lu grinned: "Editor-in-Chief, what about our bonus this month?"

Dong Yuejin waved his hand: "Ten yuan each. Ten yuan per person."

Xiao Lu immediately praised loudly: "Editor-in-Chief, wise and generous! May your career soar ten thousand miles!"

"Get lost~"

After Xiao Lu left, Dong Yuejin happily pulled out Li Ye's letters and read them carefully.

After New Wind's release at the end of last month, Old Dong had been anxious—after all, he wasn't sure if Seven-Inch Blade's reputation could hold up.

But the response was unexpectedly strong: New Wind, a monthly, had to be urgently reprinted.

Then came a flood of reader letters demanding more chapters, and some impatient readers even asked to turn New Wind into a biweekly.

Thinking back to how close this monthly had come to being canceled not long ago, Dong Yuejin couldn't help but feel moved.

History as a genre has great potential.

The historical depth of Great Huahua is irresistible!

"Hmm?"

After opening another letter from Li Ye, Dong Yuejin paused.

Because Li Ye's tone was nearly identical to the letter he'd written to Li Ye a month ago.

【Hey, Brother Dong, I'm busting my ass for you—when are you going to deliver on that big promise you made? Any progress on those Hong Kong connections?】

Dong Yuejin chuckled and began drafting his reply to Li Ye.

【Dear Brother Li Ye, your manuscript has been dispatched. International mail is delayed—please wait patiently.】

(End of Chapter)