Chapter 213: Li Ye, Is This Article Written by You?

"Big Brother, Big Brother, check out the sketch script I revised! The teacher asked me to participate in the May Day cultural performance, and you won't write me a script—I'm desperate."

During free time in the Economics Department, Sun Xianjin pushed a thick notebook toward Li Ye, eagerly awaiting his feedback.

Because "Sea Cucumber Noodles" received unanimous praise at the New Year's Eve gala months ago, Sun Xianjin suddenly felt as if his meridians had been unblocked and became enamored with writing comedy sketches.

His thick notebook recorded one sketch script after another; each time he finished one, he'd bring it to Li Ye for evaluation.

Li Ye believed Sun Xianjin had some talent; though limited by the era's perspective, he could at least design certain jokes that reflected social issues, and occasionally produced fresh, brilliant work.

Of course, Sun Xianjin had his own motives—he had successfully pulled Bian Jingjing into the comedy sketch group, so they could rehearse together often.

"This one's better than the one from a few days ago. If you blend it together a bit, it might be even better."

Li Ye capped his fountain pen, ready to mark passages in Sun Xianjin's script and discuss optimization—but then five people suddenly entered the classroom. One in a military-green jacket shouted as he stepped in.

"Who's Li Ye?"

Everyone lifted their heads, startled, staring at the doorway.

Because the tone of the speaker clearly indicated he had come to cause trouble.

Li Ye capped his pen, coldly sizing up the group at the door—their age, demeanor, aura suggested they were senior students from Jingda.

Li Ye said nothing, and neither did anyone else. Class monitor Zhen Rongrong was about to stand and demand an explanation, but Chen Xiaoling tugged her sleeve.

Seeing no one respond, a man in a jacket stepped forward and asked again—this time, his tone was considerably more restrained.

"May I ask, which one of you is Li Ye?"

"I am."

Li Ye answered softly, calm and unhurried, not even shifting his seat.

Senior students were indeed not easy to offend, since their futures were limitless—but Jingda had tens of thousands of students; Li Ye couldn't be friends with everyone.

Like that later comedian's catchphrase—there are plenty who dislike me; who are you to care?

"You're Li Ye?"

The first speaker, the man in military-green, locked eyes with Li Ye and walked over, placing a copy of "Modern Economic Inquiry" on Li Ye's desk.

He flipped it open to a page, pointed to an article's title, and spoke sharply: "Is this article—'Mutual Demands of Industrial Transfer and Acceptance'—yours?"

Li Ye glanced at the article and already had a rough guess.

He looked up, coldly, and replied just as sharply: "Who are you? Which department?"

"."

The man in the Zhongshan suit froze, clearly unprepared for Li Ye's even sharper attitude—but before he could react, the man in the jacket stepped forward.

"Hello, we're from the 1980 Math Department. We just happened to read your article and have some differing views we'd like to discuss with you."

Hearing the man speak reasonably, Li Ye stood up and nodded: "I'm Li Ye. I wrote that article."

The moment Li Ye spoke, the classroom erupted in gasps.

"What are they talking about? Li Ye published a paper in a journal? How did we hear nothing?"

"I don't know! This little guy's always mysterious, always pulling off something unexpected—publishing a paper isn't that surprising, is it?"

"Not sure if it's surprising, but clearly his article's controversial—otherwise why would 1980s students come here to debate him?"

"It's a dispute. We're used to seeing seniors argue, but never thought it'd happen to us."

"Why are math students discussing economics? Shouldn't we help Li Ye?"

"Of course. Come on, let's go help!"

Li Ye's classmates surged forward, surrounding him and the senior students in a tight circle.

Zhen Rongrong stepped forward: "Classmates, our class supports academic discussion in any form—but please control your emotions. Can we discuss this civilly?"

"Of course."

The man in the jacket extended his hand to Li Ye; after shaking hands, he said: "I'm Yang Chen. This is Song Ziyuan. We're both members of the Grass Must Thrive Literary Society and enjoy discussing current affairs."

The man in military-green glanced at his companion, refused to shake hands, and said directly: "I strongly disagree with your article, 'Mutual Demands of Industrial Transfer and Acceptance.'"

"In this article, you enthusiastically promote the benefits of accepting backward Western industries, framing Western exploitation of us as mutual demand."

"We import industries Westerners themselves don't want, then export goods to them at low cost—do you know how that low cost is achieved?"

Song Ziyuan raised his voice, speaking with deep revulsion: "It's our self-exploitation—crushing our own brothers and sisters to kiss the boots of Westerners. You're despicable!"

"."

"Who are you calling despicable? Who are you calling despicable?"

Sun Xianjin was the first to explode. His small frame shoved himself in front of Song Ziyuan, rolling up his sleeves in fury.

The temper of men from Heilongjiang was never mild.

Class monitor Zhen Rongrong also frowned: "How are you speaking? Discuss ideas, not people. If you keep this up, please leave."

"How are we attacking personally? Do you even know what Li Ye wrote in his article?"

Song Ziyuan didn't back down. He picked up the journal and pointed: "Look at this line—'For developing countries, accepting industrial transfer from developed nations is the only path to prosperity.' How do you accept it?"

"Tell me how you accept it," Song Ziyuan stared at Li Ye. "Joint venture? Or outright foreign ownership?"

"I think you're not importing industry—you're importing dangerous ideology. You're pushing our brothers and sisters into a deep abyss of exploitation."

The room fell silent for several seconds—then erupted in a roar.

"How can you slap that label on him? Li Ye only expressed economic views—this is going too far!"

"We're already engaging with foreign capital—the Canton Fair happens every year. What's wrong with Li Ye's view? You don't understand, yet you dare criticize a student."

The man in the jacket, Yang Chen, stepped forward and said calmly: "Everyone, calm down. We're here to discuss ideas."

"Li Ye's views in this article differ greatly from our current strategy. We believe he intends to tie our industry to Western economics."

"If this succeeds, we may suffer severe exploitation from the West—perhaps exporting tens of thousands of shirts to buy one car."

"That's not the worst—if we build up light industry, but the West suddenly imposes impossible conditions and stops buying our goods, what then? Will we just let them exploit us?"

"And publishing this in a national journal has too broad an impact."

"."

Zhen Rongrong and the others fell silent. Though they didn't fully grasp Yang Chen and Song Ziyuan's meaning, the word "exploitation" was far too sensitive.

All eyes turned to Li Ye—especially Song Ziyuan, whose gaze burned as if trying to pull out Li Ye's tail.

Li Ye didn't rush to refute Song Ziyuan or Yang Chen. He simply met their stares with calm, fearless eyes.

After twenty seconds, the tension in the room reached its peak—and Song Ziyuan's confident aura began to waver.

Li Ye's emotions, expression, gaze—all were utterly calm. No sign of shame, no sign of being exposed—as if nothing had happened.

Finally, Li Ye spoke: "The premise of my article is that our country joins the global trade circle."

"If we join, industrial entanglement caused by market economics is inevitable."

"."

Everyone exchanged glances. Li Ye's words implied: once you sit at the table of global trade, "exploitation" is everywhere.

To say this in 1983 was extraordinarily bold.

Just over a year ago, at the 1977 Economics Department graduation, a Jingda professor had said: students expressing anti-Marxist views were nothing but grave-diggers for the proletariat.

Amid a wave condemning "bourgeois liberalization," an elder from Jingda's Economics Department published "The Study of Modern Western Economics and China's Socialist Economic Modernization" in the "Jingda Journal." The "First Daily" reprinted half the article, sparking fierce public reaction—only then did Western economics gain legal space in mainland China.

So one could imagine the environment's ambiguity toward Western capital at this moment.

There were many like Song Ziyuan—young patriots. Li Ye had met many Jingda students over the past year, arguing fiercely over ideas—it was normal.

They loved this country more than most—but their mindset was: we may be poor, but we don't pick up trash, and we won't kiss your ass.

But Li Ye knew one truth clearly: no sacrifice, no reward. The worst fear is having no value even to be exploited.

Latecomers, in their race to catch up, endure countless inequalities, countless tears, before succeeding.

Forty years later, when our country, after decades of silent endurance, drew the world's renewed attention,

looking back on the path taken—it was paved brick by brick with shirts, buttons, toys, and the sweat of our brothers and sisters, carving a bright road through thorny wilderness.

Li Ye was perhaps the only one in this era who saw through the fog to the light—the most steadfast supporter of market economics.

Song Ziyuan stared, eyes wide, and asked Li Ye: "You really believe we must be exploited to develop?"

"You misunderstand. It's economic entanglement."

Li Ye shook his head: "But who entangles whom? We need the world, and the world needs us."

"They can use orders to pressure us—we can use our production capacity to pressure them."

"Impossible," Song Ziyuan waved his hand sharply. "They're buyers—they can just buy from someone else. When we spend huge sums building excess low-end industry, we'll be held hostage."

Buy from someone else?

Li Ye smiled faintly, and said no more.

In 1983, no one imagined that decades later, our country would crush nearly every global manufacturer of daily goods. Even if you refused to buy ours and bought from Vietnam instead, the source was still Made in China.

Our country's decades of patient, relentless development had forged a manufacturing power that made the entire world tremble.

"What are you smiling at?"

Song Ziyuan glared at Li Ye's smile, growing angrier—Li Ye's look of contempt felt like a college student laughing at a child who didn't understand calculus.

Li Ye had no intention of arguing further. He said directly: "I admire your concern for our country—but you're from Math. Don't make hasty judgments on economic issues you don't understand."

"What do you mean by that?"

Even Yang Chen was offended now. In today's universities, students from every major held "for country, for people" ideals. Li Ye dismissing their right to discuss based on major was outrageous.

But Li Ye said: "You're from Math. Let me ask you a math question—who do you think will win this year's Nobel Prize in Mathematics?"

"."

Zhen Rongrong, Sun Xianjin, and others were baffled—why had Li Ye suddenly asked this?

Some classmates even whispered to each other: who were the nominees for this year's Nobel Prize in Mathematics?

But Song Ziyuan burst into laughter: "Hahahaha! There's no Nobel Prize in Mathematics! You don't even know that—what kind of question is this? You're ridiculous!"

But Yang Chen's mind raced, sensing something was off.

At this moment, Li Ye spread his hands helplessly and said, "Look, I didn't even know the Nobel Prize has no mathematics award, yet I'm trying to discuss math with you, 【103】 so if you lack even basic economic knowledge, why do you think you can judge my economic views?"

Then if you lack even basic economic knowledge, how can you claim to evaluate my economic views?

Song Ziyuan's laughter cut off abruptly; he stared at Li Ye with a complicated expression, furious but unable to vent his anger.

(End of Chapter)