Chapter 51: The Interview Has Arrived

On the sixth day of the Lunar New Year, two comrades riding bicycles arrived at Tanziwan. One of them wore a Zhongshan suit and black-rimmed glasses, instantly looking like a man of letters, while the other was a fashionable young female comrade carrying a camera slung across her shoulder.

Upon entering Shanghai’s famous shanty town, the two instantly frowned, finally experiencing firsthand what a scene of flowing sewage truly looked like.

It was difficult for them to imagine that Zheng Fei, having grown up in such an environment, had not only created *Wind and Cloud*, but also wrote exceptionally fine essays.

"Hello, uncle. We are reporters from the *Wenhui Daily*. Could you tell us where Teacher Zheng Fei lives?" the female comrade asked.

Uncle Zhang, who was in charge of tending the traditional cast-iron stove at the entrance of the alley, took a puff of his rolled cigarette and pointed inward with his pitch-black hand.

"Looking for Zheng Fei? Go about thirty meters straight inside. To the left of that old man reading the newspaper—that's Zheng Fei's home."

"Thank you, uncle."

"You're welcome, you're welcome."

Seeing the two leave immediately after asking for directions, Uncle Zhang wore a look of disdain. Are reporters really this stingy? They couldn't even hand over a cigarette with a filter tip to smoke. That fat guy from before was much better; at least he gave me a Peony cigarette.

Yet this kid Zheng Fei was quite remarkable. Not long ago, a fat editor-in-chief from a publishing house came to deliver a cake to him.

And now, he had even attracted reporters.

...

"Zheng Fei, come on down!"

"There are reporters here to see you for an interview!"

This time, it wasn't Uncle Sun shouting, but Aunt Zhang. Ever since Alley 31 produced a cartoonist, the backs of the people living in the alley had straightened, and they began praising Zheng Fei to everyone they met.

Even the students shared in the pride. Whenever they heard someone discussing *Wind and Cloud*, they would proudly say, "Teacher Zheng Fei is from our alley."

Hearing that reporters had come for an interview, the neighbors immediately crowded around. Some people who were halfway through stir-frying dinner put their iron woks aside just to watch the interview.

After all, in this era, a reporter was an extremely prestigious profession. Ordinary factory workers, when compared to them—

*Pbah!* There was simply no comparison.

When the two reporters laid eyes on Zheng Fei, they were quite surprised. Although they knew he was an unemployed youth, they truly hadn't expected him to be so young.

Considering that Lu Xinhua, who had submitted the manuscript for *Scar* to their newspaper office two years prior, was also only twenty-four, they grew a bit less astonished.

"Hello, Teacher Zheng Fei. I am Jiang Yue, a reporter for the *Wenhui Daily*..."

"I am Lu Xiaoyu, an editorial assistant."

"Hello, comrades."

Zheng Fei shook hands with them one by one.

Jiang Yue continued:

"Here is the situation: the newspaper office has already received your article, and we have read it. We came here this time hoping to conduct an interview, if it's convenient for you."

"An interview? That is completely fine."

Seeing the neighbors—both adults and children—crowding around, Zheng Fei said, "It's quite cold outside. Let's go inside the room to talk."

...

Lu Xiaoyu was only nineteen years old and had just graduated from a vocational secondary school. She was Reporter Jiang's apprentice, though she hadn't entered through the standard examination but had instead taken over her father's position.

Upon entering Zheng Fei's room, she looked at the ten-square-meter space before her and felt how truly crude it was.

There were barely even a few chairs. The young man named Zheng Fei sat directly on the wooden bed board, giving the only two chairs in the room to them.

On the bare whitewashed wall hung a portrait of Lord Guan; seen in dim light, it was genuinely rather eerie.

Jiang Yue said, "Our visit this time is primarily to confirm a few matters with you."

"Reporter Jiang, please feel free to ask."

Jiang Yue opened the notebook in his hand, which bore the traditional Chinese characters for *Wenhui Daily*: "Are you truly an unemployed youth?"

For submissions involving sensitive personal status like this, they could not simply publish them casually; they had to verify them thoroughly.

Otherwise, if something went wrong, they would be implicated as well, and the publication would face penalties.

Since Zheng Fei possessed such talent, departments would surely be fighting over him; there was no reason for him to still be an unemployed youth.

Before Zheng Fei could reply, Aunt Zhang, who was squeezed into the doorway eavesdropping, raised her hand and said:

"Comrades, I can vouch for you—Zheng Fei is an unemployed youth. Because of his father's background, no work unit dares to take him in."

"Reporter Jiang, perhaps I wasn't detailed enough in my manuscript. My father was also a comic book artist, and back then... So I am indeed an unemployed youth."

While Zheng Fei was speaking, Lu Xiaoyu beside him continuously used her pen to record the contents of the interview.

Standing at the doorway, Aunt Zhang let out a sigh: "The child Zheng Fei has had a very bitter life since he was little, but the most heartless ones are his relatives.

"One by one, they treated him like a burden and none of them were willing to take him in. Especially that eldest aunt of his, Zhang Guifen, who even swindled away the meager belongings his parents left him. Ever since he was this small, this child grew up eating food from a hundred different families."

Jiang Yue felt somewhat awkward, finding that the aunt outside the door was particularly fond of jumping in with answers.

After listening to Zheng Fei recount his family situation, Lu Xiaoyu suddenly felt that the article, *An Unemployed Youth Decides to Die*, had still been written too conservatively.

She found it truly hard to imagine how, within this shattered family and amid a life where even breathing felt like a mistake, this unemployed youth possessed the realization required to keep his heart facing the warm sunlight while marching toward death.

Jiang Yue also held great admiration for the young man Zheng Fei—low-profile, sensible, and most importantly, remaining undevastated in his outlook toward the world despite living in adversity.

Especially that line: "I have a little sister now, so I ought to live a better life—not just for myself, but for my family."

Jiang Yue also had a younger sister. After hearing Teacher Zheng Fei's words, he suddenly felt that he ought to treat his own sister a bit better as well.

After interviewing for about an hour, Jiang Yue said to Zheng Fei:

"Teacher Zheng, we have already decided to adopt your article, but it will undergo some minor revisions without affecting the overall expression. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Will the title be changed?"

This title was chosen by Zheng Fei himself. Initially, Li Wenwen's proposed title was *The Death of an Unemployed Youth*.

Zheng Fei felt it lacked tension—simply put, it wasn't eye-catching enough.

So he changed it to *An Unemployed Youth Decides to Die*, an inspiration drawn from a film.

"Don't worry, the title won't be changed. The editorial room unanimously felt that this title is exceptionally good."

"That's a relief. As for the content, you may make minor adjustments as needed; I have no objections."

"Also, let me inform you in advance about the manuscript fee: unless we have specially commissioned the piece in advance, our publication pays five yuan per thousand words."

"That's fine, no problem."

This remuneration was higher than many other publications. In this era, manuscript fees seemed to start at three yuan per thousand words, and newcomers like him generally received the lowest tier.

At the end of the interview, the female comrade named Lu Xiaoyu picked up her camera and took a simple photo of his room.

She also took a separate photograph of Zheng Fei alone.

Finally, the three of them stood together and had someone snap a group photo of them.

As the interview concluded and the photographs were finished, Zheng Fei scratched his head and said, "Reporter Jiang, if this gets published in the paper, could you please not print my photograph?"

Jiang Yue was somewhat curious: "Teacher Zheng, do you have any concerns?"

"I've grown accustomed to freedom and don't like being recognized. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to wander the streets outside."

"I see. That's fine."

Normally, during their interviews, most people wished they could force their own photographs into print.

Because once out on the street that way, everyone would recognize them. Many writers in this era faced a common dilemma: their articles became hits, but they themselves remained unknown. Walking down the road, nobody knew who they were, leading some individuals to desperately demand that their portraits be attached when their articles were published.

When some writers published books, they even insisted on having their photographs and brief biographies printed on the folding flaps of the covers.

After leaving Alley 31 in Tanziwan, Jiang Yue couldn't help saying to Lu Xiaoyu behind him:

"A young man like this is truly rare—at twenty years of age, he possesses the composure and maturity of an old man."

Lu Xiaoyu replied, "Master, do you think it's because his experiences were different from ours that he's so mature?"

Jiang Yue frowned in thought for a moment without answering, instead telling her, "Let's head back to the office. We'll work overtime to edit the manuscript later and strive to get it into the paper tomorrow."

"Ah, seriously? That means another night shift tonight."

The two of them were originally day-shift editors, yet they were reduced to working overtime late into the night—though such occurrences had long since become a routine part of daily life.

With the editor-in-chief's signature secured, the article *An Unemployed Youth Decides to Die* finally entered typesetting, occupying an entire full page spanning over two thousand words.

This word count was vastly greater than *What Exactly Is Inside the Schoolbag?*, demonstrating the firm stance of the *Wenhui Daily*.

In the dead of night, before the sky over Shanghai had even grown bright, the printing plant was already bustling with activity. Countless newspapers rolled off the presses, ready to be transported and delivered to every distribution point and newsstand before dawn broke.