The green leather car was gliding slowly on the railway track, and Lin Weimin looked out of the car window.

In Yanjing in the 1980s, there were not as many high-rise buildings as there would be in later generations, making people breathless at a glance.

The West Railway Station is still a relatively prosperous place around it, and it is mostly built with multi-story buildings. From the perspective of later generations, it looks a bit rustic, but it also has a down-to-earth aesthetic.

"We've arrived at Yanjing Station! We've arrived at Yanjing Station! If you want to get off the bus, hurry up!"

Without the conductor having to shout, there was already a long line of people waiting to get off at the door of the carriage.

Lin Weimin was carrying a military green bag on his back. It was the only bag he had at home when he went from the city to the countryside to jump in line. It contained his change of clothes and nothing else.

However, his hands were not free. He was carrying a bag in one hand and a flower rope basket in the other. These were the bottles and jars that Huang Zonghan brought with him when he got on the train.

Lin Weimin complained in his heart as soon as he arrived in Beijing and moved his family here.

He also understood that the reason why he brought few things was entirely because of his material-rich soul in future generations. He could just spend money to buy whatever he needed.

Teacher Jin turned his head and looked at him with a smile. He was keenly aware of the instability in Lin Weimin's character.

The two began to rummage through their bags. Lin Weimin found it very quickly, while Huang Zonghan searched over and over for a long time before finally finding it.

The old comrade smiled and said, "It's okay. School hasn't started yet, so I'm very busy."

Teacher Jin felt a little bored listening to Lin Weimin's humble words. They were obviously good words, but why did they become more and more wrong when they came from this kid's mouth?

"Brother Huang, slow down and watch the road." Lin Weimin reminded.

There was a table at the entrance of School D. Behind the table was written in black and red writing "Warmly welcome the fifth batch of students of the Institute of Literature."

After checking the information, the old comrade asked the two to wait for a while.

"My name is Huang Zonghan."

Huang Zonghan said cheerfully, finally arriving in Yanjing, he couldn't help but get excited.

I rubbed shoulders with the people on the bus for a while, and finally squeezed out of the car.

The old comrade had a pale face and a kind smile, and asked, "What's your name?"

"Thank you for the compliment, teacher. You have praised me. I have to keep working hard."

The Institute of Literary Studies was established in 1950 and was initially named the "National Institute of Literary Studies". Later, upon approval by the Ministry of Culture, it was renamed the "Central Institute of Literary Studies".

A few minutes later, a young man came over from not far away and said, "I'm sorry, Teacher Jin, for wasting your time."

In 1957, due to force majeure, the Institute of Literature was closed.

"Hello, Teacher Jin!" Lin Weimin climbed up along the pole and called out loudly.

Teacher Jin smiled and nodded, "You students are recommended by major literary magazines and publications. We teachers have read your masterpieces and your novels are quite good."

Lin Weimin is one of these 34 students. He doesn't know how many of the other 33 students really love literature. Anyway, he worked hard to write novels and came to study purely to improve his living conditions.

"You're welcome."

The old comrade glanced at the roster and said, "Prove it to me."

It is now March 29, 1980. It has been just over two months since the Literary Institute resumed its operations. The fifth phase of the Literary Institute (Novel Writing Class) is about to start on April 1, with 34 students.

And for people like Huang Zonghan who have struggled through hard times, every penny they can save is worth it.

The two of them wandered around on the bus for an hour holding large and small packages, and the bus finally arrived at the end.

"Thank you very much."

At this time, the Institute of Literary Studies was a shabby settlement. It didn’t even have its own school building. It temporarily borrowed the house of School D of the Chaoyang District Committee.

"Lin Weimin!"

Lin Weimin shook his head.

Teacher Jin immediately understood, "Oh, I've read "The Noble Green Pine" and it's very good!"

After walking for another two or three minutes, I finally saw the sign for School D of the Chaoyang District Committee.

"Yes, the terminal of bus No. 18 is right there." Huang Zonghan got the affirmative answer and said to Lin Weimin.

The old comrade known as Teacher Jin waved to Lin Weimin and Huang Zonghan, "Come with me."

I asked Chaoyang District Party Committee School D if they didn’t know about it. After a long while, Beijing Films suddenly realized: It turned out that they were talking about the area near Zuojiazhuang outside Dongzhimen.

Huang Zonghan walked in front and asked specifically. He had a steady temper. Even though the literature class had already told them the address and the way to take the bus when notifying them, he still couldn't help but ask.

The old comrade's accent should be from Jiangsu and Zhejiang, but it doesn't sound difficult.

"Teacher, my name is Huang Zonghan." The silent man next to him suddenly said.

"Didn't you hear that just now? Just call me Teacher Jin."

In January 1980, the Literature Institute resumed its operations.

Teacher Jin walked in front with his hands behind his back, and the two of them kept up with Teacher Jin's pace.

He leaned forward and asked: "Teacher, what should I call you?"

"By the way, Xiaojing..." He pointed at Lin Weimin and said: "These two classmates have come to register, and the information has been verified. You are alone here, I will lead them to arrange dormitories."

"Comrade, please tell me how to get to Chaoyang District Party School D?"

Huang Zonghan was walking in front, holding the luggage roll with both hands, and he could hardly see the road ahead.

"It's okay. More than 20 people have come one after another. There are only 34 of them in total this time." He looked at Lin Weimin and asked: "Your name is Lin Weimin, right? You are the one who wrote "A Penny Matter"

Written?"

"It's okay, you can see it."

According to the timeline, in 1984 the Literature Institute was officially renamed the National Institute of Liberal Arts, and this name has been used to this day.

Lin Weimin just heard the young man call him Teacher Jin and thought that this must be a teacher from the institute. There is nothing wrong with establishing a good relationship.

No matter now or in future generations, you always have this magical power that makes people happy and worried!

In early spring, the Sophora japonica trees on both sides of the street have already sprouted their tender buds, and the catkins floating from nowhere are still as irritating as in later generations.

"I wrote it. Teacher, do you know me?"

"Teacher Jin, do we have many students here?"

Huang Zonghan took half of his face out of his luggage and said to the old comrade sitting behind the table: "Hello, we are here to register from the literature class."

Yanjing! Yanjing!

There is a post office next to the terminal of the No. 18 bus, and there is a grocery store facing the street opposite. There is a cotton curtain hanging at the door, which is similar to the mattress Lin Weimin left in the countryside that has not been washed for almost two years, and no one even looks at it.

So after getting off the car, his eyes immediately began to scan the surrounding environment.

Lin Weimin pouted.

Hey, are you a primary school student? You have to compare yourself to this.

"Here, here we are, this house is our territory."

Teacher Jin pointed to the rows of bungalows in the courtyard. The houses in the courtyard are all connected like this, with hand-painted verandas in the middle and separated by hanging flower doors.
Chapter completed!