A married woman like you—what are you fighting us for? (Asking for monthly votes)

The story "The Female College Students' Dormitory" was exceptionally well written, and after reading it, Huang Beijia and her friends felt a strong sense of resonance. Feng Jiayou was even so bold as to exchange her copy of “Shanghai Literary Arts” directly with a female classmate for this sample issue of “Yanjing Literature”!

Now, as they ate, they were all happily reading, occasionally exclaiming, “Beijia, Jianying, why is it that though we’re all university students, we just can’t write something like this?”

“Exactly! ‘Shanghai Literary Arts’ is bound to be a hit again! Back in August this year, there was the sensational ‘Scar’, also written by a university student!”

Cha Jianying scooted closer to Feng Jiayou on the long bench, eating, reading, and nodding in agreement. “Actually, I think Old Xu’s new piece ‘A Tender Heart’ is even better!”

Huang Beijia leafed through her sample copy of “Yanjing Literature,” still preferring her beloved Old Xu’s new manuscript. “Old Xu’s work is indeed great—he’s also a university student! Why are they all so talented?”

Cha Jianying, ever the echo, nodded vigorously. “They’re just amazing.”

Cheng Xuemin kept silent, focused on eating. The sooner he finished and saw Feng Jiayou back to her dorm, the sooner he could head to the mailroom to check for a reply from “Yanhe Literature.”

He wondered how much payment he’d receive this time—would it be five yuan per thousand words, or six? The maximum was seven, but local magazines rarely paid that much unless you were a famous writer. For newcomers like him, five or six per thousand was already generous. With a thirty-thousand-word novella, six per thousand would net a handsome 180 yuan. Even five was acceptable, but if it dropped to four, he’d have to reconsider supporting local cultural endeavors.

“Jiayou, you—you—did you get published again?!”

Just as they were eating, Huang Beijia suddenly shrieked, nearly startling everyone in the Long March Cafeteria—students and teachers alike turned to look, wondering who this “Jiayou” could be. Was submitting to magazines really so easy for her? Was every submission a win?

“Beijia, you just noticed? I invited you out to eat and to the movies, and you ignore me!” Jiayou protested with faux indignation, “How long have you had the sample issue? My name’s right there in the table of contents, and you all ignored it!”

“So now you finally see my masterpiece? I went all the way to ‘Yanjing Literature’ this morning to bring you these sample copies!”

Feng Jiayou had been waiting for this moment all along. Seeing Huang Beijia’s outburst, she played along, feigning wounded pride.

“Jiayou got published too?” Cha Jianying was shocked, immediately trying to snatch the sample issue from Huang Beijia's hands.

“Let me finish reading! What’s the rush?” Huang Beijia resisted, eyes glued to Jiayou’s article—a review inspired by “The Horseman.”

“Jiayou, you really kept this hidden well! No hint at all, and you got published in the toughest issue of ‘Yanjing Literature’! Bai Ling said the standard was so high this time, most pieces that would have passed before, didn’t stand a chance. But you managed it!”

Indeed, among all the reviews of “The Horseman,” only Feng Jiayou’s stood out in this issue.

“Wow, Jiayou, you really did it? It’s that review on ‘The Horseman’?!” Cha Jianying, unable to snatch the issue, squeezed onto the bench with Huang Beijia to read together, confirming it was indeed Jiayou’s name and her review originally submitted to “Wenhui Daily.”

“Ha, I owe it all to Old Xu and his ‘Horseman’—I was just lucky! Even Mr. Zhou said today that my angle was unique—no one had written from this perspective before, so they decided to publish it,” Jiayou said, unable to hide a touch of pride beneath her humility.

“Even Old Zhou praised it?” Huang Beijia and Cha Jianying were stunned. Old Zhou of “Yanjing Literature” was notoriously critical—his approval meant true quality. They stopped talking, intent on studying Jiayou’s review to see what made her perspective so good.

“It’s nothing, really. I just rode on Old Xu’s coattails. So, as per tradition, dinner’s on me—no objections, right?”

“Of course, it’s your treat! You got published and earned royalties, and in the hardest issue yet! The whole class will be green with envy!” teased Huang Beijia, feigning nonchalance but brimming with admiration.

How did Jiayou think to approach “The Horseman” from that angle? Beijia couldn’t help but concede defeat—she and Jianying had both been among the first to read “The Horseman” and had each tried to write a review, but both gave up. Yet the least likely among them, the one with the least apparent interest, Jiayou, succeeded.

“Exactly! By now, our dorm must be in an uproar!” Cha Jianying chimed in, “So that’s why you brought several sample copies back—to share with the dorm. Now they’ll see your masterpiece after reading Old Xu’s new work!”

She too felt a pang of jealousy. Why wasn’t it her review that got published? If it were, she’d have the perfect gift for Old Xu at their movie date tonight. Instead, it was Jiayou, who already had a husband—what a wasted opportunity!

No doubt, everyone in the dorm who saw Jiayou’s review felt the same. And to top it off, her piece appeared in the very same issue as Old Xu’s new story—wasn’t that fate?

“Just a coincidence!” Feng Jiayou chuckled, understanding her friends’ frustration, but what wasn’t theirs simply wasn’t. She couldn’t help them.

Their meal was flavorful, but left them speechless with envy. Afterward, the three returned to the dorm together, while Cheng Xuemin quickly rode his bike to the mailroom.

“Mister, do you have a letter for me from the Yellow Earth, from ‘Yanhe Literature’ in Shaanxi?”

This time, Cheng Xuemin got straight to the point, giving the gatekeeper no chance to question him.

“You look familiar, young man! Aren’t you that student who got rejected by ‘People’s Literature’?” The old gatekeeper, indeed forgetful, had seen Cheng Xuemin just a few days ago when he’d come to collect a letter from “Shanghai Literary Arts” about “The Female College Students’ Dormitory.” Back then, they’d even debated over the recipient’s name, which was a female student’s.

But now, just days later, he’d forgotten entirely. That was just as well. If he remembered, word would soon spread that Kuang Yalan, the author of “The Female College Students’ Dormitory,” was a student at Yanjing University. Then there’d be another campus-wide hunt: “Who is Kuang Yalan?”—with each department putting forth their own candidates.

“That’s right, sir! You have a great memory—you remember every submission of mine!” Cheng Xuemin replied, forcing a smile.

“Of course! Back in the day, I was the fastest note-taker in the Yanjing University conference hall! Before liberation, even national conferences in Zhonghai would invite me to help!”

Who knew if the old man was boasting or telling the truth? If he wasn’t exaggerating, then he was indeed impressive. But with his selective memory, Cheng Xuemin was grateful—he had dozens of pen names, and even that might not be enough if this man started spilling secrets.

“Aha, here it is!” After rummaging a bit, the old man found a large envelope, weighing it regretfully. “Young man, this feels like another rejection letter. But don’t be discouraged—perseverance pays off, and you’ll be published someday!”

“Just a few days ago, a young fellow like you got published! From Shanghai, I think. He opened his letter right here—in it was a sample issue and a payment slip!”

The envelope was indeed hefty—surely a sample issue. The old man was talkative and forgetful, yet remembered the incident clearly—except, ironically, the main character standing before him.

“Right, sir, you’re absolutely right—perseverance is key. But could you check if this is a payment slip? I’ve never had one before!”

In front of the gatekeeper, Cheng Xuemin opened the letter from “Yanhe Literature.” Sure enough, inside was a thick sample issue and an acceptance letter—plus the fabled payment slip. He pulled it out and immediately checked the amount.

One hundred eighty-five yuan!

Just as he’d guessed, “Yanhe Literature” hadn’t given him the top rate of seven yuan per thousand words, but six was already generous—especially for a newcomer. Thirty thousand words at six per thousand was a windfall.

“Well, what did I say? This place is blessed—everyone who submits here gets published!” The old man, who’d been encouraging him to work hard and not rush, was dumbfounded. “That is indeed a payment slip, young man! You’re the third to receive one here!”

Another publication, another payment—this one over a hundred eighty yuan, more than half the old man’s annual salary! The gatekeeper could only exclaim in disbelief—his face burning with embarrassment.

…

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