《電子管的微光與夜大的重重陰影》

為適應教育事業發展的需要，1978年，上海市教育局決定委託華東師範大學舉辦一期教輔人員培訓班，學習期限為兩年，畢業後給予中專待遇，由市教育局統一分配至本市有關高校大專和新辦的各分校，從事實驗員教輔工作。

當年校招生辦人員在上海市郊區，近十個國營農場報考大學落榜名單裡挑了30名考分接近錄取線的報考生，我也有幸在被選之列。那是恢復高考的第二年。前一年的77級高考我沒考上，而78年我的高考分數是290分，比300分的錄取線差了10分。讀兩年拿中專，雖然不盡人意，總比繼續當漁家女強。而且，小時候心心念念、無限憧憬的地方，竟然就是華東師大的校園。

我們的高等數學、普通物理、晶體管電路、數字電路、計算機原理、計算機語言等基礎課程，是和77級的大學生一起上的大課，其他專業課程是在小教室上的。我們當時的課程還有：英語、機械製圖、攝影、黑白電視原理、彩色電視原理、錄像機原理、 錄像製作等。

在校期間，我很喜歡畫那些電子線路圖、方波圖、與非門邏輯電路圖等，而且成績都很好。7管半導體收音機組裝是電子技術實驗課最後完成的作業，我沒花多少時間就組裝好了。我的動手能力較強，要歸功於小時候。

自我有記憶起，就經常看到爸爸在搗鼓家裡的那台電子管收音機。一臺用舊了、壞了，過一陣子他又不知道從哪兒弄來一臺繼續琢磨。那時候我不記得牌子，但裡面什麼樣子我卻記得清清楚楚：那一個個電子管，像高樓一樣立在機盤上。那些零件兒，像帶開關的電位器呀、功放管、整流管、還有線圈兒、磁棒等，我都能認出個七七八八。爸爸拆下來的那個雙聯可變電容器，更是成了我的玩具，拿在手裡轉呀轉的，能玩兒好久，激發了我孩提时代的想像。

那時候我總想，爸爸怎麼這麼厲害？拆下來的東西每次都能完好無缺地安回去。後來才知道，爸爸在廠裡是「八級工」，那是當時工人能達到的最高技術等級，有一百零幾塊的工資。那時候他們的工廠是個頂級的保密單位，大門口有軍人站崗。不像現在的印鈔廠那樣直接掛著「印鈔」兩個字。那個時候，職工都簽過保密協議，連家屬也不能知道他們工廠的性質的。我也是聽小哥哥阿六神神秘秘地說過那麼一句：「爸爸廠裡是印鈔的。」而且說要保密，我當時聽得汗毛倒豎，覺得緊張又神秘。六哥也是聽其他小夥伴兒們說的，當時村裡住的基本上都是五四二廠的員工家屬。看來保密雖然保密，但是總有嘴巴把不住關的人，但大人基本上是心知肚明的。

爸爸彷彿對所有能動、能響的機械和電子玩意兒都著迷，家裡的那台三五牌台鐘也經常被他打開後門，直接掏出裡面的「內臟」零件擺弄；至於那小鬧鐘，更是動不動就被他「大卸八塊」。

只要爸爸一開始在家幹活，手裡總是拿著電烙鐵，往松香裡輕輕一點，「哧——」地一聲冒出一股白煙兒，空氣裡頓時散發出一股特殊的松香味。接著再點一下焊錫，爸爸就在那裡點點，這裡焊焊。他的上衣口袋裡總插著一支電筆，身旁擺著測量電壓電流的萬用表，那錫條則是繞成一卷一卷的。

後來，我們家終於升級到晶體管收音機了。童年最快樂的時光莫過於每天傍晚六點半，時鐘還沒敲響，我和年紀相仿的哥哥們，還有鄰居家的男孩們，就已經圍坐在收音機旁，一天不落。我們焦急地等待著播音員陳淳的聲音，他那充滿魔力的嗓音彷彿能將我們帶入戰火紛飛的年代，讓我們沉浸在《紅旗譜》、《紅岩》、《烈火金剛》和《小兵張嘎》等作品所描繪的世界之中。像高老忠等鮮明的人物、肖飛買藥的故事情節使我們聽得入神，深深地印在了我們的小腦瓜裡，為我們的兒童時代增添了無限的想像力。

不料，在大學裡讀中專造成了我嚴重的心理障礙，一樣的美麗校園，一樣在階梯教室裡上大課，一樣的大學教授講課，一樣的努力學習，可別人讀四年後是大學生，而我們只能讀兩年。

當時物理樓門框上的三個牌子分別是：計算機科學系、現代教育技術研究所、和物理系。底層大門東側，走道北邊第一間135教室，是我讀了兩年中專班的專用教室。在兩年中我們學習了19門與電教技術專業相關的課程。畢業後全班同學被分配到九所大學和教育機構工作。

我被分配在本校電教所工作，具體是為攝製組拍的教學片後期編輯配音。能留校工作應該是很不錯的了，可是在高等學府工作卻沒有高學歷~~ 無形中的自卑感、壓抑感、加上虛榮心折磨著我年輕悸動的心。古人常說「寧為雞口，無為牛後」，而在這大牌雲集的高校裡，我成了最微不足道的「牛後」，那種「鶴立雞群」的驕傲滋味兒是再也體會不到了。

1982年我還參加了物理系的暑期加班，組裝12吋黑白電視機。近水樓台，低價大約80塊人民幣買了一台，從那時起，我們家也有了電視機。老同學說：「當時的黑白電視機剛開始進入家庭，而且9英寸的居多，以當時人們的收入水平看還是很貴的，一台黑白9英寸的凱歌電視機要賣225元(帶收音245元)，我們中專畢業時工資是每月49​​元，儘管這樣電視機還要憑票購買，物理系一些搞實驗的老師們就自行採購元件，自行組裝，而且是12吋的，以成本價賣給教職員工，所以會覺得便宜。 」

五桶櫃上的三五牌座鐘與電視機

1982年3～4月的某一個午後，我在二樓編輯室裡看書，忽然有人在我桌上「砰——」地一聲，放了一摞書。

「給你的。」同事小W的聲音同時傳來。

「幹嗎呀，你嚇我一跳！」我抬起頭，條件反射地照著他的左手臂就是一拳，當然力道不重。

「嘿嘿～」他笑道：「6月份夜大入學考試，你趕快複習了去考。」

「考什麼？什麼夜大？」我驚訝地看著他。

「哈！你還不知道啊？人家小Z已經在夜大數學系讀了一年了。」

小Z是我的好友，但這事我卻不知道。「你也準備考嗎？」他點點頭。

「啊呀！怎麼不早告訴我呢？」

「急什麼，這不還有兩個月呢。」

「有什麼專業？」

「甭管有什麼專業，考數學系！我爸說只有讀數學系才有前途，三年拿大專文憑，繼續讀滿五年拿本科。你聰明，你能考進的，你肯定能考進的，讀三年後你就可以考我爸的研究生，然後咱們一起出國。」

「什麼時候報名？怎麼報名？到那裡去報名？」我沒想得像他那麼遠。望著他憧憬未來的迷離目光，一連串地發問。

「我會通知你的。」

小Z的父母也都是華師大的教授，他們消息相當靈通。 6月我們都參加考試了。我的數學考了85分。7月錄取榜上沒有他的名字。

因為個人的原因，我從數學系轉去了中文系。人們也都說女孩子讀理工科沒前途。說實話，要我考文科，我絕對會落榜的。當年就是作文与政治的分數低，躍不過高考入取分數線。

但是一切的努力都無濟於事，都無法解開我心裡的病結。畢竟是「夜」幕沉沉啊~ 抬不起頭來。為什麼中專畢業後就不能考正規大學了呢？ ！遺憾 ！

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The Glow of the Vacuum Tubes and the Heavy Shadows of the "Night" University

To meet the growing needs of the educational sector, in 1979, the Shanghai Bureau of Education commissioned East China Normal University (ECNU) to host a special training program for technical and educational support staff. It was a two-year program. Upon graduation, we would receive a technical secondary school (Zhongzhuan) status and be assigned by the Bureau to various local universities, colleges, or newly established branch campuses to work as lab assistants and instructional aides.

Back then, ECNU's admissions officers traveled to nearly ten state-owned farms in the suburbs of Shanghai. From the list of students who had narrowly missed the cutoff score for the regular university entrance exam (Gaokao), they selected 30 candidates whose scores came closest.  It was only the second year since the reinstatement of the National College Entrance Examination. I had failed to get in during the legendary Class of '77 exam the year prior, and in 1978, I scored 290 points—missing the 300-point university admission cutoff by a mere 10 points. Fortunately, I was among the chosen few. Going to school for two years to get a technical diploma was not entirely ideal, but it was far better than remaining a state-farm fisher-maiden. Moreover, the very place I had daydreamed about and longed for since childhood turned out to be none other than the ECNU campus.

Our foundational courses—including Advanced Mathematics, General Physics, Transistor Circuits, Digital Circuits, Computer Principles, and Programming Languages—were large lecture classes taken alongside the prestigious ECNU undergraduate Class of '77. Our specialized courses, however, were held in smaller classrooms. Our curriculum was diverse and demanding: English, Mechanical Drawing, Photography, Black-and-White Television Principles, Color Television Principles, Video Recorder Principles, and Video Production.

During my time at school, I fell in love with drawing electronic circuit diagrams, square wave graphs, and NAND gate logic circuit layouts. My grades in these subjects were excellent. As the final assignment for our electronic technology lab, we had to assemble a 7-transistor semiconductor radio. It took me very little time to put it together. My strong hands-on ability was a gift rooted deeply in my childhood.

For as long as I can remember, I always saw my father tinkering with the vacuum tube radio at home. When one grew old or broke down, he would somehow procure another one after a while and continue analyzing it. I couldn’t recall the brand back then, but I remembered exactly what its inside looked like: those vacuum tubes stood on the metal chassis like miniature skyscrapers. I could recognize almost eighty percent of the components—the potentiometers with power switches, the power amplifier tubes, the rectifier tubes, the coils, and the magnetic rods. The dual-gang variable capacitor that my father dismantled became my favorite toy. I would turn it round and round in my hands, playing with it for hours, letting it spark my imagination.

Back then, I always wondered, How could my father be so incredible? Everything he took apart was always put back together flawlessly, without a single missing piece. Only later did I find out that my father was an "Eighth-Grade Artisan" at the factory—the absolute pinnacle of technical ranking a worker could achieve back then—which brought in a monthly salary of over one hundred RMB. At that time, their factory was a top-secret enterprise, with armed military guards standing watch at the main entrance. It looked nothing like today's banknote printing plants, which boldly display the words "Banknote Printing" right on the gates. Back then, all employees had signed strict confidentiality agreements; even family members were forbidden from knowing the true nature of the factory. I, too, only found out through a hushed, secretive whisper from my slightly older brother, Ah Liu: "Dad's factory prints money." He emphasized that it had to be kept a complete secret. Hearing that made the hairs on my arms stand up; I felt a rush of intense nervousness and mystery. My sixth brother had actually caught wind of it from other neighborhood kids, as the village we lived in was almost entirely populated by the dependents of Factory 542's employees. It seemed that no matter how strict the secrecy was, there would always be lips that couldn't quite hold a secret. The adults, however, were mostly keeping their understanding unvoiced.

Perhaps because of the innate precision of an Eighth-Grade Artisan and his obsession with all things mechanical, the Sanwu brand grandfather clock in our living room could never escape his "clutches." He would frequently open its back door, pull out its mechanical "guts," and fiddle with them. As for the small alarm clocks in the house, they were routinely ripped to shreds by him.

Whenever my father started working at home, he would hold his soldering iron and tap it lightly against the pine resin. With a loud Chiii—! a plume of white smoke would rise, instantly filling the air with that distinct, comforting scent of rosin. Then, he would tap the solder wire, welding seamlessly here and there. A test pen was always tucked into his shirt pocket, a multimeter for measuring voltage and current sat by his side, and the tin solder strips were wound into neat, tight coils.

Later, our family finally upgraded to a transistor radio. The happiest moments of our childhood were surely every evening at 6:30 PM. Before the clock even struck, my brothers, who were close to my age, the neighborhood boys, and I would already be sitting in a tight circle around the radio without missing a single day. We would wait impatiently for the voice of the announcer, Chen Chun, whose magical tone would carry us away into the war-torn eras, immersing us in the worlds depicted in works like The Red Flag Chronicle, Red Crag, Steel Meets Fire, and Little Soldier Zhang Ga. Vivid characters like Gao Laozhong came alive, and plots like Xiao Fei sneaking out to buy medicine captivated our young minds, leaving an indelible mark on our childhood brains and adding boundless imagination to our early years.

At that time, three plaques hung on the frame of the Physics Building entrance: the Department of Computer Science, the Institute of Modern Educational Technology, and the Department of Physics. On the east side of the ground floor, the very first room on the north side of the corridor—Classroom 135—was our dedicated home for those two years. During our time there, we completed 19 courses related to educational technology. Upon graduation, our classmates were distributed among nine universities and educational institutions.

I was assigned to work right at ECNU’s Institute of Educational Technology. Specifically, my job was post-production editing and voice-over dubbing for instructional films created by the film crew. To be able to stay and work at one’s alma mater should have been considered a stroke of great luck. Yet, working in a pinnacle of higher education without a prestigious degree meant that an invisible sense of inferiority, oppression, and youthful vanity constantly tormented my restless heart. The ancients said, "Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of an ox." But in this university crowded with towering intellectuals, I felt like the most insignificant "tail of an ox." The proud feeling of standing out like a crane among a flock of chickens was something I would never experience again.

During my first year, I volunteered for summer overtime in the Physics Department, assembling 12-inch black-and-white televisions. Being close to the source, I managed to buy one at a cost price of about 80 RMB. From then on, our family had a TV to watch, too. An old classmate later recalled: "Back then, black-and-white TVs were just beginning to enter households, and most were only 9 inches. Relative to income levels, they were incredibly expensive. A 9-inch Kaige TV cost 225 RMB (245 RMB with a built-in radio), while our monthly salary upon graduation was a mere 49 RMB. Even if you had the money, you needed a special ration coupon to buy one. Some lab professors in the Physics Department bought the components themselves, assembled them into superior 12-inch sets, and sold them to faculty and staff at cost. That's why it felt like such a steal."

One afternoon in March or April of 1982, as I was reading in the second-floor editing room, someone suddenly dropped a heavy stack of books onto my desk with a loud Thud!

"These are for you," came the voice of my colleague, Xiao W.

"What are you doing? You scared the life out of me!" I looked up, reflexively throwing a punch at his left arm—not too hard, of course.

"Heheh," he grinned. "The entrance exam for the Night University is coming up in June. Hurry up, review these, and go take it."

"An exam for what? What Night University?" I looked at him in utter bewilderment.

"Ha! You don't know yet? Xiao Z has already been studying in the Night University's Mathematics Department for a whole year."

Xiao Z was my close friend, yet I had been kept entirely in the dark. "Are you going to take it too?" I asked. He nodded.

"Oh my goodness! Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"What's the rush? There are still two months left."

"What majors do they have?"

"Doesn't matter what majors they have, just major in Mathematics! My dad says that studying math is the only path to a real future. It takes three years to get an associate degree, and if you stay for five, you get a full bachelor's degree. You're smart; you can get in. You will definitely get in. After three years, you can take the entrance exam to become my father's graduate student, and then we can go abroad together."

"When is registration? How do we sign up? Where do we go?" I hadn’t thought as far ahead into the future as he had. Watching the dreamy look in his eyes as he envisioned our future, I fired off a barrage of questions.

"I’ll let you know when the time comes."

Xiao Z's parents were also professors at ECNU, so they were incredibly well-informed. When June arrived, we both took the exam. I scored an 85 in Mathematics. But when the admission list came out in July, his name was nowhere to be found.

Due to personal reasons, I eventually transferred from the Mathematics Department to the Chinese Department. People always said that girls had no future in STEM. To be completely honest, if I had been forced to take the humanities entrance exam initially, I would have failed catastrophically. Back then, it was precisely my low scores in essay writing and politics that kept me from crossing the threshold of the regular university admissions cutoff.

Yet, no matter how hard I tried, none of my efforts could untangle the knot in my heart. After all, it was a "Night" university, and the heavy shadows of that word still made it hard to lift my head with pride. Why was it that after graduating from our technical program, we couldn't just directly test into a regular, full-time university?! What an eternal regret.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第三百六十二篇

《兩小無猜的初戀與無法跨越的門第：我與小Z的青澀歲月》

一、跨越理智的愛之嘗試

雖然在某個幽暗朦朧的清晨、在市屬幹校電話總機房的窗邊，有過瞬間的、沒有肌體接觸的、對異性的情的迷離；雖然在蒹葭蒼蒼、蜿蜒綿長的防海夯土大堤下、蛙聲起伏、浮萍蕩漾的池塘邊，有過片刻的初吻的甜蜜；真正的衝開了理智的束搏給愛一個嘗試還是在我考回學校之後。

時光再往前推一年，我們搬進了新建的兩層宿舍樓，東側一百米開外、我們原來住過的地方，由農場基建連分部的十來個人住著。Z是那兒的小醫生，就住在我曾經住過的屋裡。他的醫務室就是我們曾經的會計室。

他們那裡沒接線，打電話要到我們新樓、也就是要用我們會計室的電話打。會計室在二樓、室外樓梯上來拐角的第一間，是我和D會計兩人的辦公室。順著開放式長廊的一側，有六七間屋子，有醫務室、織網工作室、娛樂會議室和寢室。寬敞明亮的會計室裡靠西牆立著幾個大文件櫃，靠著東牆，我坐的這一側放著我用的齊腰高的保險櫃。緊挨著北窗，兩個辦公桌背對背靠著，我和D會計坐位面對面，電話機就在中間。D會計是本地人、三十開外，家在農場以外的縣裡，生有三個孩子。他是隊裡很認真負責的領導，除了書記、隊長、就是他了。就因為D會計的面相認真嚴肅，每次Z過來用電話都是戰戰兢兢的，有時他手裡還會拿著一支香煙來想賄賂D會計，卻又不敢拿出手。

其實那年代，人們沒事兒是不打電話閒聊的，我們隊上幾乎沒人過來打電話。小Z的電話比較多，經常要給在縣醫院當外科醫生有第一刀名聲的父親打電話。他長得很俊，還帶著稚氣的清秀可愛，耳鬢有絡腮鬍子的跡象，但還是那種沒有刮過的軟軟的細細的絨毛。漸漸的就跟我們熟了，說話也不臉紅了，有時也到我們這兒打打乒乓。一次在乒乓房裡他順口說到，以後有機會要在上海帶我去看電影，這小孩子家家的，真好大的口氣，我心想。奇怪的是，忙著複習考試的閒暇裡，我的心慢慢的被這個略帶羞澀的大男孩兒給占據了。

二、偷視的秋波，與南市區的濃郁奶香

自以為是避開了旁人眼目的時候，我站在會計室門前的開放式走廊上佯裝眺望風景，偶爾斜蔑偷視東側，卻也看到Z在那邊看過來，心裡便有了一陣悸動。我們倆遙遙相望卻又裝做是巧合，被對方發覺後便若無其事地移開眼神。有一段時間沒著見他了，也不便打聽的。

1979年農曆新年放假之前，他真的來約我到上海一起看電影，我也就愉快地答應了。這一陣子大約有兩個月左右沒見著他，忽然間他就長大了，身材比過去魁梧、唇上的鬍子也濃了。不知怎的乍一看到他現在的樣子，我還一時沒反應過來，不久前還清清秀秀的，怎麼一晃就長大成人了，心裡便有了依稀的懷念他過去的樣子。在上海一起看了一場電影，不記得是在哪裡看的電影，看的是啥電影了。看了電影後我就跟著六哥去了江西。不久我的錄取通知書就下來了。雖然說不上金榜題名，但好歹也是回到了大學的校園。這下我真的就放下包袱，給長期統治言行的理智放了假，至少別讓它老把著情感的大門了。我們之間雖然沒有過青梅竹馬，這並不防礙我們有著兩小無猜的初戀。

小Z帶我去他家見了他四十二歲當小學教師的母親，後來也見過他父親一次。因為他父親是在上海某個郊縣醫院工作，不是每天回家。他母親給我的感覺很精明，看到她我總是有點怕怕的。她在丈夫面前又很嗲，看著大人發嗲我就有點受不了。我母親從來就不容許我發嗲，她認為這是很下賤下層的。

每次小Z從農場回到家，他母親就會讓他打電話叫我去。每次她都藉口去樓下老虎灶打瓶水，離開那麼一小會兒，然後就一直待在家裡看書做事兒陪著。他家住的地方在南市區裡少有的幾棟三層或四層的磚石建築群裡，大塊兒淺灰色石磚壘砌的外牆，有點像外灘的老樓，整潔乾淨，他們住在二樓自己廚房裡就可以燒開水。小Z對我很坦誠，曾跟我說起他外婆的一段往事：早年他外婆在坐黃包車逃避戰亂的途中遭到搶劫，兩個大祖母綠寶石的耳墜被生生拽走，留下她的耳垂各有一道豁口，直到去世。

小Z總是要給我沖奶粉喝，那時候鮮奶、奶粉是人們生活中可望而不可及的奢侈品。除了給有一定級別的人的特供，鮮奶都要有新生兒的出生證。他因為有個做醫生的父親，家中也不缺這個。他沖奶粉時，奶粉總要放上大半杯子，四分之三的杯子裡是奶粉，衝出的奶又濃又香。

三、外灘拱門下的「水簾洞」 

第一次的擁吻是難忘的，那是一個仲夏之夜，Z送我回家的路上遇到了傾盆大雨，他牽著我的手跑到了南京東路外灘附近的某棟歷史悠久的有石台階的大樓門洞裡躲雨。嘩嘩的大雨不停地下著，雨水從門洞上飛流而下，如同水簾洞一樣，從天而降的水幕，將這個深深的門洞與外界隔絕了，街燈映在動態的簾幕上光怪陸離。

此時的門洞裡幽暗神秘甚至浪漫，最主要的是，這一刻我們有了屬於我們的小空間，沒有母親的目光，沒有任何干擾。莫名的驚慌與期盼加上被雨打濕了的衣衫，身子開始顫抖，不容多想Z一把將我摟近，我們冰涼的唇碰在了一起，身子都不由自主地顫抖著，緊緊地擁著、吻著，他的熱量瞬間傳遞了過來抵住了寒雨侵肌的冷。從頭到腳過電似的快意在體內瀰漫開來。正覺著會就這樣地老天荒，雨卻適時地停了，門洞又與外界融為一體，路燈的光探了進來，也有過路的行人了，我們不得不分開，結束了那令人銷魂的擁吻。

光陰荏苒，轉眼到了下一年的高考時期，我們我和他母親都極力盼望期待Z也能考上來。我給他的信沒有一封漏過他母親的法眼，好在都是些古書裡唯有讀書高類的勸學之說。也許是初戀的分心，也許是別的什麼原因，Z落榜了。

他母親先後找我單獨談過兩次話，第一次給我的印像是我各方面都還可以，就是家庭有點與他們的不門當戶對，他們是知識分子階層，而我的爸爸是工人，母親是個家庭婦女，而且我比她兒子大了兩歲好像不太合適。但每當Z回家她都叫我去她家，為了不影響Z複習考試我還是去，也沒跟他提過與他母親的那次談話。第二次被他母親叫去談話是Z落榜之後，大致意思是她的兒子很迷戀我，也很消沉，希望我要配合她，鼓勵他繼續努力參加來年的高考，不要給Z有任何壓力。

我再苯也感覺出來了，原來她母親一切都是為了自己的兒子，在利用我。我答應了她，一如既往地安慰Z不要太在意這次的失誤，我第一次考也沒考上，第二次才讀了個中專。再努力複習就是了，但他的情緒明顯沒有去年那樣的快樂。

四、醫務室辦公桌上的純情黎明 

在我回上海讀書的前一年，我的人事關係都留在農場裡，薪水也是農場裡發的。第二年國家新規定可以將戶口關係轉回上海了。我抽空回到農場辦理這些手續，在Z的醫務室辦公桌上過了一晚，那個醫務室就是我曾經工作的會計室。室內靠西牆有幾個木質文件櫃，櫃子前面，幾乎是屋子的中央，放著他的辦公桌。

清晨Z輕輕地溜了進來，我們倆相擁著在辦公桌上躺了有一個時辰，那個時候我們都是不敢越雷池一步的純情戀人，連用手來探索未知的念頭，也是剛一萌發就被一種強大的自製力給否掉了，只能是暗自陶醉於被「咯」著的感覺，天亮了我就回滬了。後來我聰慧務實的三嫂說服了我，也漸漸變得對Z冷淡了。

五、教室門口的驚慌錯身

Z到學校來找過我，這件事兒我處理得很不好。那天下課，看到了Z在教室後門口，心裡很驚慌，不知他是怎麼找到這裡的。我擔心他會做出什麼對我不利的行為，當時聽說過社會上有被女子拋棄了的男子，懷恨在心，往女子臉上潑硫酸的事情。母親常說:「害人之心不可有，防人之心不可無。」我很害怕，不想見他。其實我應該見他，聽他想說些什麼，畢竟他不是那種暴力型的。但是我沒有，我找到班上的一個男同學，要他幫個忙。

Z看到我邊上有個男同學就走掉了。我一定是很傷害了他的心的。之後他來過信，我沒回，他母親也來過信，說我是個「不苟言笑」的好女孩兒，又有要我回頭的意思。不苟言笑這個成語我還是第一次碰到，查了字典，揣摩了好一陣子個中意義。我不能為了Z的前程再次接受他母親的操縱呀。完了，還是不符合他們的門第，我不扒這個高。要是沒有他母親的攪和，我也許不會就這麼放棄的。

後記：你方唱罷我登場

回首這段兩三年的青澀歲月，出於年少無知，我傷害了他，也傷害了自己。後來的不順，大抵都算是命運的報應。但這都是後來的悟了。我小時候對自家的老底子其實不太敏感，那時也從來沒想到過自己是正黃旗的格格，否則當年面對小Z母親嫌棄我家庭「門不當戶不對」的挑剔，我心裡還能多點底氣。儘管是出身於沒落了百年的貴族家庭，時代不同了，說出來都會被人笑掉大牙。

其實我是滿族正黃旗人，我家在北京的祖墳上還曾立有一通「王八馱碑」，碑頭是方的，雕有雙龍戲珠，至少是三品以上的官銜呢。倒退兩百年，他們還不一定能攀上我這門親呢，上三旗還不嫁下五旗呢。記得讀初中時，母親偶爾提起她出嫁那天，爺爺家沿街搭了足足十八個喜棚子；家裡的祖墳佔地十八畝；祖上甚至還有人在宮裡做過娘娘。向來難得說話的爸爸，當時也面帶笑容地插話說，我們祖上是「隨龍進京」的，當年還曾「跑馬占地」。但他緊接著神色一變，刻意加了一句：「那都是醜惡歷史了。」話音一落，便不再繼續往下說了。我那時對過去根本不感興趣，甚至天真地以為宮裡的「娘娘」就是伺候人的女傭，便也沒有追問。

1988年8月三哥跟姑姑一起去掃墓時拍的

小學填寫表格要求登記民族時，我大哥曾一再叮囑我，千萬不要填寫「滿族」。那時的我雖然不懂背後的政治忌諱，卻有一股骨子裡的倔強，硬是堅持填寫了「滿族」——感覺是與眾不同，心裡有點兒小小的自豪與確信。

突然想到英國作家托瑪斯·哈代《德伯家的苔絲》故事中的那位美麗、純潔而又善良的苔絲，也是出身於沒落貴族家庭，被侮辱後她奮起反抗命運，但最終的結局是那樣的悲慘，令人不寒而慄。

1981年5月24日星期天黄昏，我站在家里的五屉柜旁，
背对着东窗，临摹的一幅《德伯家的苔丝》小说插图。

歷史就是這樣折騰人，你方唱罷我登場。虎去狼來，風水輪流轉。那些世俗眼光裡精明的權衡與挑剔，在漫長的歲月裡，終究不過是一縷隨風而散的短暫塵煙。

**********************************

An Innocent First Love and an Unbridgeable Divide: My Youthful Years with Xiao Z

I. An Attempt at Love Beyond Reason

Though there had been a fleeting moment of romantic haze—untouched and purely emotional—by the window of the municipal cadre school's telephone switchboard room during a misty dawn; and though there had been a temporary sweetness of a first kiss by the pond where frogs croaked and duckweed drifted under the vast, winding sea wall; the true breaking of reason's shackles to give love an honest chance did not happen until after I passed my exams and returned to the university.

Rewinding time by another year, we had just moved into the newly constructed two-story dormitory. About a hundred meters to the east, our old living quarters were now occupied by a dozen men from the farm's construction company branch. Z was the young doctor there, living in the very room that used to be mine. His clinic was the very office that used to be our accounting room.

Since their quarters lacked a telephone line, they had to walk over to our new building to use the phone in our accounting office, which sat right at the top of the outdoor staircase on the second floor. Our spacious, bright office had large file cabinets against the west wall, while my waist-high safe stood against the east wall where I sat. Right by the north window, our two desks were placed back-to-back, leaving Accountant D and me facing each other with the telephone sitting right between us. Accountant D was a local man in his early thirties with three children. He was an incredibly strict, responsible leader; next to the party secretary and captain, he held the highest authority. Because of Accountant D's terribly stern and serious expression, every time Z came over to use the phone, he was trembling with nerves. Sometimes he would clutch a single cigarette in his hand, desperately wanting to "bribe" Accountant D but never quite finding the courage to pull it out.

In those days, people never used the telephone for idle chatting, and almost no one from our team ever came to use it. But Xiao Z called frequently to reach his father, a renowned chief surgeon at the county hospital. Z was remarkably handsome, possessing a delicate, youthful charm; shadow paths of a beard traced his jawline, though they were still just soft, unshaven peach fuzz. Gradually, he grew comfortable around us, no longer blushing when he spoke, and sometimes he would stroll over to play ping-pong. Once, in the ping-pong room, he casually remarked that he would take me to the cinema in Shanghai when an opportunity arose. What a big boast for such a young boy, I thought to myself. Yet strangely, during the rare pockets of leisure while I was buried in exam prep, my heart was slowly but surely occupied by this slightly bashful boy.

II. Stolen Glances and Rich Milk in South Shanghai

Thinking I had successfully avoided all prying eyes, I would stand on the veranda outside the accounting office, pretending to admire the scenery, while casting sideways glances toward the east—only to find Z staring back from his side, sending a sudden flutter through my heart. We would lock eyes across the distance and then pretend it was a total fluke, casually shifting our gazes away the moment we were caught.

After a two-month absence where I hadn't seen him, he suddenly came to ask me out to the movies before the Lunar New Year, and I happily agreed. In those two short months, he had completely transformed; his frame was broader, and the mustache on his lip had darkened. Looking at his new appearance, I couldn't wrap my head around it initially. He had been so delicate and sweet just a moment ago; how had he become a fully grown man in the blink of an eye? My heart filled with a faint, lingering nostalgia for the boy he used to be. We went out on our movie date in Shanghai, though the theater and the film itself have vanished from my memory. Afterward, my sixth brother and I left for Jiangxi. Not long after, my university acceptance letter officially arrived. With that, I truly shed my heavy emotional burdens, granting a much-needed vacation to the strict reason that had long ruled my words and deeds. Though we lacked the deep roots of childhood neighbors, it did not stop us from exploring an innocent, fairytale-like first love.

Z took me to his home to meet his mother, a forty-two-year-old primary school teacher, and later I caught a brief glimpse of his father, who worked at a suburban hospital and didn't come home every day. His mother struck me as incredibly shrewd; whenever I faced her, a faint ripple of intimidation crept into my heart. Moreover, she acted incredibly "dia" (flirtatiously sweet) around her husband; seeing a grown woman act that way made me cringe slightly. My own mother had never tolerated any flirtatious whining, viewing it as unmannered and low-class. 

Yet, whenever Z came home, she would have him call me over. She would invariably use the excuse of heading downstairs to the local hot-water depot to fetch a thermos, leaving us alone for a mere sliver of time before remaining firmly in the room to read or do chores. They lived in one of the few three-to-four-story masonry developments in the South City District; its large, light-grey stone blocks resembled the grand buildings of the Bund—immaculate and clean. They lived on the second floor and could boil water right in their own kitchen. Z was entirely transparent with me, once sharing a dramatic fragment of his family history: during her youth, while fleeing wartime chaos in a rickshaw, his grandmother was brutally mugged. Two large, emerald earrings were ripped straight from her ears, leaving permanent splits in both earlobes that she carried until the day she passed away.

Yet, Z always insisted on mixing milk powder for me to drink. In those days of severe scarcity, fresh milk and milk powder were luxuries beyond the reach of ordinary people, requiring a newborn's birth certificate unless you held high administrative rank. But thanks to his physician father, their household never lacked a supply. When he prepared it, he would heap the powder until it filled three-quarters of the glass, brewing a beverage so rich and fragrant. 

III. The 'Water Curtain Cave' Near the Bund

Our very first embrace and kiss remains etched indelibly in my mind. It was a midsummer night, and a torrential downpour caught us off guard as Z was walking me home. Clutching my hand tightly, Z sprinted with me into the grand stone entryway of a historic building near the Bund on East Nanjing Road. The furious storm sheeted down relentlessly, pouring off the arched entrance like a literal Water Curtain Cave. This cascading curtain of water completely severed our deep stone sanctuary from the outside world, as flickering streetlights danced across the moving veil of water in surreal patterns. Inside the alcove, the air felt dim, mysterious, and profoundly romantic; above all, for one precious moment, we possessed a tiny world entirely our own, free from a mother’s watchful gaze or outside intrusion.

A strange mixture of panic and anticipation, combined with clothes soaked through by the rain, made my body begin to shiver. Without a second thought, Z pulled me tightly against him. Our ice-cold lips met, our frames trembling in unison as we clung to each other, locked in a deep kiss. His inner warmth rushed into me instantly, fending off the biting chill of the rain. A current of electrifying bliss rippled through me from head to toe. Just as I felt this moment might stretch into eternity, the rain ceased as if on cue. The stone archway remerged into the waking world, the glare of the streetlamps crept back in, and passersby appeared. We were forced to pull apart, ending that intoxicating embrace.

Time flew by, and soon the next college entrance exam season arrived. Both his mother and I harbored desperate hopes that Z would pass. Not a single letter I penned to him managed to escape his mother's sharp, evaluating gaze; luckily, they were filled with nothing but traditional scholarly encouragement, echoing old texts that placed academics above all else. Perhaps due to the distractions of a first romance, Z failed the exam. His mother initiated two private conversations with me. The first left me with the distinct impression that while my personal traits passed her inspection, our family backgrounds lacked a proper match; they belonged to the intellectual class, whereas my father was a factory worker and my mother a housewife. Furthermore, my being two years older than her son was deemed unsuitable. Yet, whenever Z came home, she continued to have him summon me. To avoid derailing his study mindset, I still attended, never uttering a syllable to him about his mother's words. The second conversation occurred after his failure. The gist of her message was that her son was utterly infatuated with me and deeply despondent; she expected me to cooperate by boosting his spirits for the next year's exam without placing any pressure on him. Even with my naivety, the cold truth finally dawned on me: everything his mother did was strictly a blueprint for her own son. She was merely utilizing me. I agreed to her face, comforting Z as I always had, telling him not to take this single failure to heart—after all, I had failed my own first attempt, only managing a technical school degree on my second try. I urged him to simply buckle down and study again, though his demeanor had clearly lost the vibrant joy of the previous year.

IV. An Innocent Dawn on the Clinic Desk

During my first year studying back in Shanghai, my official personnel records and wages were still handled by the farm. By the second year, a new national policy finally permitted us to transfer our household registration back to the city proper. I took a brief leave to return to the farm to process these documents, spending the night on the desk inside Z's clinic office—the very room that used to be my old accounting office. Several wooden filing cabinets lined the west wall, and right in front of them, nearly in the absolute center of the room, sat his desk.

At dawn, Z slipped quietly inside, and we lay wrapped in each other's arms on that wooden desktop for a solid hour. In those days, we were pure lovers who dared not cross a single boundary; even the faint, budding urge to physically explore the unknown was instantly crushed by a powerful, deep-seated self-restraint. We simply lay there, privately intoxicated by the rigid, rigid pressure between our clothed bodies. As full daylight broke, I returned to Shanghai. Later on, swayed by the logical facts and reasons of my clever, pragmatic third sister-in-law, my warmth toward Z gradually faded into cold distance.

V. Panic at the Classroom

Z actually came to the university to look for me, and I handled the situation terribly. The moment class dismissed and I spotted Z standing right outside the classroom back door, panic seized my heart; I had no idea how he had tracked me down. I terrified myself with dark thoughts of retaliation; rumors had been circulating in society about jilted men throwing sulfuric acid into women's faces out of spite. My mother always said: "Never harbor intentions to harm others, but never lower your guard against them either." Blinded by fear, I refused to see him. In truth, I should have faced him, should have listened to whatever he wanted to say—after all, he was never a violent soul. Instead, I panicked, grabbed a male classmate, and asked him to stand with me as a shield. Seeing another young man by my side, Z simply turned on his heel and walked away. I know, without a doubt, that I must have shattered his heart into pieces that day.

Afterward, he penned a letter to me, which I left unanswered. His mother sent a letter as well, describing me as a "bu-gou-yan-xiao" (serious and reserved) good girl, subtly hinting that she wanted me to return to her son. That was the very first time I had ever encountered that idiom; cracking open a dictionary, I spent a long time turning the definition over in my mind, trying to decipher its exact meaning. But I refused to let myself be manipulated by his mother again just to secure Z's academic future. At the end of the day, our family backgrounds still didn't match their arbitrary standards of social standing, and I had no desire to climb a ladder where I wasn't truly welcome. Had it not been for his mother's endless interference, I might never have abandoned him so easily. Born out of sheer youthful ignorance, I simply did not know how to untangle the messy web of romance. In hurting someone who never deserved to be wounded, I ultimately ended up inflicting the deepest harm upon myself. All the hardships that followed later in my life felt like a form of cosmic retribution.

Epilogue: The Stage of Time

Looking back at those two to three years of bittersweet youth, born out of sheer ignorance, we wounded each other and ourselves; the hardships that followed felt like cosmic retribution. Yet, these are insights born only of later reflection. In my youth, I was entirely oblivious to my family's ancient prestige. I never once conceptualized myself as a lady of the Plain Yellow Banner;  had I known, it would have lent me an iron coat of armor against Z's mother who judged our backgrounds as a "poor match." Granted, it was a lineage from an aristocracy fallen for a century; times had changed, and speaking of it openly back then would have made people laugh their teeth off.

In truth, I am of the Manchu Plain Yellow Banner lineage. Upon our ancestral burial grounds in Beijing once stood a grand stone tablet resting atop a mythical bixi tortoise, sculpted with two dragons playing with a pearl—a monument reserved strictly for officials of the Third Rank or higher. Had we rewound time by two centuries, their households would have struggled to secure an alliance with my family. I remember during middle school, Mother related that on her wedding day, my grandfather's estate had erected eighteen massive ceremonial tents stretching down the lane. My father, a man of few words, chimed in with a rare smile, adding that our ancestors had "entered Beijing alongside the Emperor" and had once "claimed vast lands by horseback." Yet, he immediately appended a stern warning: "That is all ugly history now." With that single sentence, he severed the topic. At that age, I naively assumed an Imperial Consort was simply a palace maid, so I never pressed further.

Earlier, when filling out forms in elementary school, my oldest brother urged me never to write down "Manchu." Though I didn't comprehend the deep political caution behind his words, a quiet stubbornness took hold of me; I resolutely checked the "Manchu" box anyway—it was a tiny, private spark of conviction that made me feel proudly distinct from the world. History plays cruel tricks on humanity; one singer leaves the stage only for another to ascend. Tigers leave as wolves arrive, and the tables of fortune endlessly turn. Those shrewd, worldly evaluations and judgments of status, when faced with the relentless river of time, have finally dissolved into nothing but a brief drift of historical dust.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第三百五十八篇

《时代的齿轮：1978年的两记闷棍，与那些散落世间的奇妙重逢》

一、遲到的「真相」

2026年7月底上網查資料，才知道1977年的高考是各省自主命題，而1978年的是全國統一命題。78年全國高考作文是要考生把一篇長文縮寫成500至600字的短文。那篇文章的題目是《速度問題是一個政治問題》意在考察學生對核心觀點的提煉能力。題目材料以華國鋒等領導人講話為核心，強調經濟發展速度對國家政治穩定的重要性。文中引用毛澤東的建設方針；批判「四人幫」的錯誤路線。

二、自嘲與當下的AI

天哪！老實說 估計從考場出來的那一剎那，我就已經將語文考的是什麼徹徹底底地給忘到爪哇國去了。多麼枯燥的內容啊！我一向對政治不感興趣，又缺乏提煉、縮寫的能力，難怪會考的不及格！我只考了54分。

提煉核心觀點 總結內容綱要，這種能力是我至今的短板。現在做油管短視頻，我把故事記錄下來後，都要請 Gemini AI 幫我做個內容提要、簡介的。

三、中學的「陰影」

記得在中學時代，我們班48個學生分成四組，老師讓我當第四組的小組長。每次小組討論後，各組長都要站起來面對全班同學，簡明扼要地匯報小組的討論情況和結果，那是最令我難堪的事。

打小母親就不讓我與女孩子們扎堆兒，說那是嘰嘰喳喳 瘋瘋癲癲沒教養。所以我沒有練嘴皮子的機會，說話拙嘴笨舌，再加上我是第四個小組長，發言排在最後一個。輪到我時總是心裡慌亂，總覺得想說的，該說的都已經被前面幾個組長講完了。我的發言總是吭吭哧哧的，心裡好不願意當這個組長。根本沒體會到這正是余老師培養我提煉、總結能力的機會呢。

四、1977年的「拔苗助長」

扯遠了，再說我1977年高考落榜，是有心理準備的。從那年10月突然得到激動人心的恢復高考消息到冬季的高考，只有2個月的復習時間。對一個荒廢了四年多學業的我來說，拿起課本復習數理化知識，簡直就是無中生有，拔苗助長，太難了。

五、1978年，我唯一的出路

當時要想離開農場只有兩條出路：一「招工上調」，二復習再考。不說「招工上調」過程中還存在著一定的貓膩，就是論資排輩熬年頭，就令人覺得虛無縹緲。而繼續復習準備參加下一年的高考，才是我唯一的出路。1978年的高考是在7月份，好歹有半年多的時間復習。

六、新樓房與熱鬧的漁業隊

1977年還沒有「恢復高考」時，我們就搬進了新建的兩層的樓房。在老宿舍以西，大約100多米的地方。新樓的樓梯在樓東側是露天的，我們會計室是在二樓樓梯口第一間。D會計的臥室在邊上第二間，再後面是醫務室、織網間 會議室和娛樂室。娛樂室內有電視機和乒乓桌。我們女生宿舍還要往裡走。

那時候新場部已經建成一年多了，場部的一些機關人員，陸陸續續也都搬了過來。新場部與我們漁業隊就隔了一條夯土大堤，走路5分鐘都不用，就有不少人到處轉轉。當時，我們住的地方前不著村後不著店兒的，其他連隊都比較遠。場部的人就轉到我們漁業隊來了，買點魚改善改善伙食。熟悉後也會跟我這兒聊一會兒。

七、意外的「悄悄話」

我77年冬季高考落榜後，D會計看我整天復習功課挺努力的，便也看在眼裡記在心裡。一天午後，D會計面帶笑意走進辦公室，告訴我大學生正在隔壁D會計的寢室，叫我過去。大學生經常來我們這串門兒，熟門熟路的都是到會計室來聊天兒的，今天怎麼他會呆在D會計的寢室裡叫我過去？想起母親說的「好話不背人，背人沒好話」，我納悶兒著走到隔壁。

八、定格在陽光下的畫面

那個寢室有四張雙人床，D會計的床在北窗左側的下鋪。看到床上棉紗帳的帳門撩開著被兩側的帳鉤掛住。草編涼席上，大學生老S正架著兩條腿，仰躺斜靠在D會計的被垛上，一個小草帽遮住了臉。剎那間，彷彿看到在溫暖的陽光裡，一個悠閒的西方垂釣者翹著一條腿，用草帽遮著臉，興許嘴裡還咬著一根兒乾草，仰躺在河邊岸坡大樹下的草地上休憩。

九、溫暖的謎底與鏡頭前的僵硬

我有點束手無策，怎麼叫我過來他自己卻躺在這兒，還遮著臉。好在這尷尬的場面持續的時間不久。大學生自己一下子取下草帽，笑著坐了起來。也沒有什麼要緊的事兒，找我過去只是問了問我複習的情況。原來是D會計剛剛和他談過，請他幫我輔導功課。這就解釋了剛剛D會計為什麼面帶笑意地叫我過去。

老S三十出頭，是一位文革前的大學生。我們平時就叫他「大學生」，是場部的攝影師。1977年7月他還幫我拍過一些風景照呢。我跟他說要抓拍「給我拍得自然點啊」我說。過去曾有過牙齒不整齊，被當眾羞辱的經歷，造成我在鏡頭前不會笑，面部表情僵硬。結果這幾張拍的還算滿意。

十、福建的驕傲與思鄉情

大學生老S的妻子在家鄉，他總盼著有朝一日能調回福建去。他很為福建考生在歷年的高考中名列前茅而自豪。

十一、D會計的默默守護與那些隱藏的「學霸」

D會計比較嚴肅認真內向，心底很善良。估計是為了讓我更安心不受干擾地複習功課，平時都在隔壁的寢室裡。有人來聊天兒，就會坐在我對面的D會計的辦公桌前。但是我發覺，只要一有人來閒聊，D會計就會走過來開抽屜拿東西，敏感的人就比較尷尬，从此就不再來了。

後來聽說其中一位聊天受阻的場部工作人員，1978年考進了復旦大學新聞系。還有一位也是後來不再來聊天的場部的播音員，聲音很有磁性，好像還是場部文藝宣傳隊的。當時他坐在會計室裡跟我說他們正在排演話劇《於無聲處》。後來查閱歷史資料才知道《於無聲處》的創作時間是1978年5月，首演時間是9月23日。那麼這位播音員與我聊天的日子應該是1978年9月以後的事了，高考也結束了的那段日子裡。

十二、重逢在華師大——這世界真小

奇怪的是，後來我在華師大工作後，有一次大禮堂有人做報告。具體是什麼報告記不清了，但是做報告的人就是那位播音員！還有，我們漁業隊的司務長，多年後居然穿著製服在師大門口當門衛。還有一位，我在紙袋廠工作時，在同一車間裡漂亮的女同事，比我大一屆，很清高的。我們之間幾乎沒有說過一話，當時我還是車間副主任呢。多年後居然看到她每天上下班路過我家窗前。據說她回上海後，嫁給了我的一位中學男同學的哥哥，就住在我們前排樓裡。

好玩兒吧？這個世界真小。

十三、錯過的遺憾，與驚艷時光的「五朵金花」

有時候世界雖小心卻太遠，那年月人都比較含蓄，遇到多年前的老同事、老朋友幾乎都不好意思上前打招呼。回頭想想就很遺憾。

蓉蓉是我在紙袋廠時的小姊妹，我去了漁業隊後，偶爾還會回工廠探望她，晚上，我就擠在她那張八人宿舍的單人床上，兩個人頭挨著頭說悄悄話。我也去過她在上海愚園路弄堂裡的家。後來也就是78年前後，子女頂替政策出台，她便頂替母親進了上海閥門廠，在那裡她被公認為廠裡的「五朵金花」之一。

十四、萬種嬌羞的軍裝女孩與大眼睛的「電影明星」

蓉蓉的美是嫻靜婉約的，有一次跟她走在場部附近的路上，那兒人多。注意到那些回頭看過來的目光，都是集中在她身上的。可蓉蓉面對這些目光，只是瞬間眼眸低垂，那飽含的萬種嬌羞，美極了。

她常穿著一件橄欖綠，四個口袋的軍官制服，她父親是上海警備區的高官。她也送了我一件她哥哥的草綠色士兵服，只有兩個口袋。當時年輕人以穿軍服為最高時尚，很難獲得。

那個時候上海電影製片廠的導演，常來農場挑演員。事實上，我們紙袋工廠的一位姓陳的女孩，後來成了電影明星。這裡也有個小插曲。故事是這樣的:一天有人說廠裡來了位「頂特勒」，就都過去看。果然她皮膚白皙，嘴唇紅潤，大眼靈動。

十五、吹不響的口哨與一輩子緣分的「小Z」

一天傍晚我和她還有幾個姑娘在馬路上散步。微風拂煦，大家嘰嘰喳喳好不熱鬧。不知誰先吹了個嘹亮的口哨，於是馬路上口哨聲此起彼伏。小陳能用口哨吹出花樣，我卻只會發「噓噓」聲音。於是她就教我怎麼捲舌頭、怎麼翹嘴唇、怎麼吹氣。可我就是拙嘴笨舌，怎麼也學不會。

歡笑中，我們回到了廠門口。這時 一個在食堂工作的72屆男生小Z，面目清秀一副書生相，很靦腆地走過來，說有事相求。說他將被子拆洗過，但不會縫，問我是否能幫他縫一下。人家都開口了，當然得幫啊。此時，小陳扭過頭來，睜著那雙漂亮的大眼睛，一骨碌往上轉了大半個圈兒，似乎是畫了個大問號。食堂的一間空屋子裡，被子已經鋪在蘆葦杆簾子上了，就等我給縫上。其實在此之前，我也只在食堂買飯的小窗口見過他。

十六、一尺高的打飯窗口，與三十年後的驚人消息

那時候食堂的牆面上就開著兩個一尺多高的小窗口。一到飯點兒，人們就排著兩條長隊等著買飯。那窗口開得低，每個人買飯時都得稍微低下頭，弓著腰，才能跟裡面的工作人員說清楚，今天想要買什麼菜 打幾兩飯。

就是這位在食堂工作的小Z，在1974年的下半年，突然給我打過一次電話，不過那次不是為了他自己，而是替他的一位朋友當傳話筒，約我見面。

任誰也不會想到，三十多年後的2011年，才聯繫到的老同學中，在上海高等教育局工作的老班長提到，他高教局裡的一位同事，聽說了我的名字後，便說他認識我。您猜怎麼著，這位竟然就是當年在食堂工作的小Z！他是在77年高考恢復前，就被保送回上海讀大學的。

十七、滅了的演員夢，與一轉眼的永遠

後來，上影廠的導演也看上了蓉蓉，可廠裡一個女領導一句「作風不正」，就滅了她的演員夢。當時追求她的男生很多，在領導眼中竟成了罪。據說後來有個資本家的後代娶了她，然後遠赴法國。此後很長一段時間裡，蓉蓉常出現在我的夢裡。

幾年後，在上海戲劇用品商店裡，隔著兩個玻璃櫃檯，我一眼看見了她和她母親，我們互相注視了幾秒。可那一刻，我終究沒有上前打招呼的勇氣。那時代的人太靦腆，一個轉身，錯過就是永遠。

十八、老S的「扭身絕技」，與再落榜的高考

思緒又飄遠了，咱回過頭來再聊那個1978年會計室。「大學生」幫我解答過幾道數理化方面的難題，但也沒有教我多少東西，倒是喜歡吹牛、聊天兒。結果，他來聊天兒時，D會計也開始過來開抽屜拿東西了。老S卻比較老資格，仗著與D會計熟，當D會計來開抽屜時，他只是將身子一扭，讓開，D會計離開後接著聊。

1977年的高考錄取率為4.8%，到了1978年，報名人數增長40萬人次，錄取率提高到6.59%。78年高考的錄取線是300分，我只考了290，又一次落榜。

十九、徐家匯到大堤，野花裡的純真抓拍

1978年7月侄女小Y，背著書包跟我一路乘94路車，換44路到徐家匯，換徐閔線到老閔行碼頭，搭渡船過黃浦江到奉賢縣的西渡，再坐西幹線長途汽車。四個多小時的車程到達五四農場的老場部終點站下車，又走了半個多小時，風塵僕僕地來到了隊裡。

D會計的兒子小WX，那幾天也跟著爸爸來隊裡玩兒。他在鏡頭前扭扭捏捏的很害羞。我說WX你去給小Y採些花來，他就在附近的野草叢中，採了些花兒跑過來送給小Y。我趕緊抓拍了這個鏡頭，很自然，很純真。

二十、隨塘河畔的逆光，與解禁的捲瀏海

我請「大學生」在隨塘河畔和夯土大堤上，給我們拍了一些照片。注意到78年的照片中我的瀏海是捲曲的。那年上海大街上，開始有燙長波浪的時髦女郎招搖過市了。我沒那個膽子，只能燙個瀏海卷個辯稍兒。文革中是沒有燙頭髮的，會被作為資產階級的生活作風遭批判的。

西邊的太陽快要下山了，我第一次拍攝逆光照。那時候拍照都以人為主，好像每張照片裡都要拍「我」，覺得光拍風景那是浪費膠卷兒。

二十一、紅燈下的神秘暗房－告別1978

大學生老S還帶我和小Y去了場部的暗房，他一個人工作的地方。第一次進暗房，紅燈光籠罩著神神秘秘，彷彿進入了另外一個世界。看老S沖洗照片十分有趣。他還給我的老照片上了色，有的是上棕色，好像是沖印的液體裡加了點顏色。還有幾張是他手工上的色。當開門走出暗房的一剎那，有些晃眼，還有些對那個神秘感的「世界」留戀。

很久以後，聽說「大學生」如願以償地調回了福建老家。

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The Gears of Time: Two Heavy Blows in 1978, and the Magical Echoes of a Small World

I. The Delayed "Truth"

In late July 2026, while researching online, I finally learned that the 1977 college entrance exam was designed by individual provinces, while the 1978 exam was standardized nationwide. The 1978 essay section required candidates to summarize a long text into a 500-to-600-word essay. The topic was "The Question of Speed is a Political Question," aimed at testing our ability to extract core arguments. The material centered on speeches by political figures like Hua Guofeng, emphasizing how economic speed relates to political stability. The text cited Mao Zedong's development guidelines; it also criticized the erroneous line of the "Gang of Four."

II. Self-Mockery and My Present-Day AI Savior

Good heavens! To be honest, the moment I stepped out of that exam hall, I must have wiped that test completely from my memory. What a dry topic! I was never interested in politics and lacked the ability to summarize. No wonder I failed—I only scored 54. 

Summing up core ideas remains my weak spot to this day. Even now, when making YouTube shorts, I have to ask AI to help write my video summaries and descriptions after I draft my stories.

III. The Middle School "Shadow" 

I remember in middle school, our class of 48 was split into four groups, and the teacher made me the leader of Group 4. After every group discussion, each leader had to stand up and summarize our findings concisely to the whole class. It was the most agonizing thing for me.

Since childhood, my mother forbade me from mingling with groups of girls, calling it unmannered, noisy nonsense. So I never developed the gift of gab and was quite tongue-tied. Being the fourth leader, I always went last. By the time it was my turn, panic would set in, as everything worth saying had already been said. I would stutter through my speech, hating every moment of being a leader. I completely failed to realize that Teacher Yu was actually trying to cultivate my ability to summarize.

IV. 1977: Rushing Things Out of Nothing

Digressing a bit—I was fully prepared for my failure in the 1977 exam. From the thrilling announcement of the exam's resumption in October to the actual test that winter, we only had two short months to prepare. For someone like me, who had abandoned academic studies for over four years, picking up textbooks to review math, physics, and chemistry felt like trying to build something out of nothing. It was a rushed, impossible task.

V. 1978: My One and Only Way Out

At that time, there were only two ways to escape the farm: job placement allocation or studying to retake the exam. Job allocation was a dubious process full of favoritism, and waiting one's turn by seniority felt completely hopeless. Continuing my studies for the next year's exam was my only true way out. The 1978 exam was scheduled for July, which at least gave me more than half a year to prepare.

VI. The New Building and the Lively Fishery Team

In 1977, even before the college entrance exams were reinstated, we moved into a newly built two-story building, about 100 meters west of the old dorms. The eastern staircase was open-air, and our accounting office was the very first room at the top on the second floor. Accountant D’s bedroom was next door, followed by the clinic, net-weaving room, meeting room, and recreation room, which had a TV and a ping-pong table. Our female dormitory was further down the hall. 

By then, the new farm headquarters had been up for over a year, and office staff were moving in. Separated from our fishery team by just a rammed-earth levee—less than a 5-minute walk—people often strolled over. Living in the middle of nowhere, with other companies far away, headquarters staff naturally gravitated toward our team to buy fresh fish and improve their meals. Once we got to know each other, they would stop by to chat with me.

VII. An Unexpected Whisper

After I failed the winter exam in 1977, Accountant D noticed how hard I was studying every day and quietly took it to heart. One afternoon, Accountant D walked into the office with a knowing smile and told me "the College Student" was next door in his bedroom, asking for me. He was a regular visitor who usually hung out in the accounting office to chat. Why was he waiting in Accountant D's private bedroom today? Remembering my mother's old saying, "Honest words are not hidden from people, and hidden words are not honest," I walked next door, full of curiosity.

VIII. A Snapshot Frozen in the Warm Sunshine

The dorm room had four bunk beds, and Accountant D’s was the bottom bunk to the left of the north window. The cotton mosquito net was pulled open, hooked back on both sides. On the straw mat, the College Student, Old S, lay with his legs crossed, leaning back against Accountant D’s neatly stacked quilts, a small straw hat tilted over his face. In that instant, drenched in warm sunshine, he looked exactly like a relaxed Western angler—resting on the grassy bank under a massive tree, legs crossed, face covered by a straw hat, perhaps even chewing on a blade of grass.

IX. A Heartwarming Answer and Camera-Shy Stiffness

I stood there a bit helpless. Why call me over just to lie there with his face covered? Fortunately, the awkward moment didn't last long. He suddenly tossed the straw hat aside and sat up with a grin. It wasn't an emergency; he just wanted to ask about my studies. It turned out Accountant D had just spoken with him, asking him to tutor me. That explained Accountant D's mysterious smile.

Old S was in his early thirties, a pre-Cultural Revolution college graduate whom we simply called "the College Student." He was the farm's photographer and had taken some scenic photos of me in July 1977. I remember telling him to take candid shots: "Make me look natural," I said. Because I had been publicly humiliated as a child for having crooked teeth, I never knew how to smile for cameras and always froze up. Surprisingly, those photos turned out quite well.

X. Fujian’s Pride and Homesick Longings

Old S's wife was back in his hometown, and he was constantly hoping for the day he could transfer back to Fujian. He took immense pride in how Fujian students consistently ranked among the top performers in the national college entrance exams.

XI. Accountant D’s Silent Guard and the Hidden Top Scorers

Accountant D was serious, meticulous, and introverted, but possessed a deeply kind heart. To give me a quiet space to study without distraction, he usually stayed in the bedroom next door. Whenever visitors dropped by to chat, they would sit at his desk right across from me. But I noticed a pattern: the moment someone started chatting, Accountant D would walk in, opening drawers to rummage for things. Shrewder guests caught the hint, felt the awkwardness, and stopped coming. 

Later, I learned that one of those interrupted chatters actually got into the Journalism Department at Fudan University in 1978! Another regular who eventually stopped visiting was a farm radio announcer with a beautifully magnetic voice, who also seemed to be part of the propaganda troupe. I remember him sitting in the accounting office, telling me they were rehearsing the play In the Silent Place. Historical records show it was written in May 1978 and premiered on September 23. So, those chats must have happened after September 1978, during those lingering days after the college exams had already ended.

XII. Reuniting at ECNU: This World Is Truly Small

Strangely enough, years later when I was working at East China Normal University, there was a lecture in the grand auditorium. I can't recall the specific topic, but the guest speaker was none other than that very radio announcer! Even more surprising, the quartermaster from our fishery team ended up working as a uniformed security guard at the university gates years later. And then there was a beautiful, aloof female colleague from my days at the paper bag factory. She was a year ahead of me, and though I was the vice-director of the workshop back then, we barely spoke. Decades later, I realized she was walking past my apartment window every single day on her commute. It turned out that after returning to Shanghai, she married the older brother of one of my middle school classmates and lived in the building right in front of mine. 

Isn't it fascinating? This world is incredibly small.

XIII. Regrets of a Missed Hello, and the Breathtaking "Golden Blossom"

Yet, sometimes the world feels vast despite its smallness. Back then, people were reserved; bumping into an old colleague or friend after many years often felt too awkward to say hello. Looking back, I feel a deep sense of regret.

Rongrong was my close sister at the paper bag factory. Even after I moved to the fishery team, I would occasionally return to visit her. At night, we would squeeze together on a single bed in an eight-person dormitory, whispering our secrets head-to-head. I even visited her family home in the traditional lanes of Yuyuan Road in Shanghai. Around 1978, when the policy allowing children to replace their retiring parents took effect, she took her mother’s place at the Shanghai Valve Factory, where she was widely celebrated as one of the factory's "Five Golden Blossoms."

XIV. A Shy Girl in Uniform and the Big-Eyed Future Movie Star

Rongrong possessed a quiet, elegant beauty. Once, walking with her near the crowded farm headquarters, I noticed every turning head was locked entirely on her. Facing those stares, she would simply lower her eyes in a flash—a subtle gesture brimming with a thousand shades of shy grace that was utterly breathtaking.

She often wore an olive-green, four-pocket officer's uniform, as her father was a high-ranking official in the Shanghai Garrison Command. She even gifted me a two-pocket grass-green soldier’s uniform from her older brother. In those days, wearing military attire was the pinnacle of fashion and incredibly hard to come by.

Around that time, directors from the Shanghai Film Studio frequently visited the farm to scout for talent. In fact, a girl surnamed Chen from our paper bag factory actually went on to become a movie star. There is a sweet little interlude here: one day, rumors spread that a "stunning beauty" had arrived at the factory, and everyone rushed over to look. Sure enough, she had porcelain skin, rosy lips, and vibrant, expressive eyes.

XV. An Unblown Whistle and a Lifelong Bound with "Xiao Z"

One evening, she, along with a few other girls and myself, were strolling down the road. A gentle breeze blew as we chatted and giggled lively. Someone suddenly let out a piercing whistle, and soon, echoes of whistling filled the air. Miss Chen could whistle intricate melodies, while I could only manage a faint "shhh" sound. She patiently tried to teach me how to curl my tongue, shape my lips, and blow, but my clumsy tongue simply couldn't master it.

Amidst the laughter, we arrived back at the factory gates. That was when Xiao Z, a refined, scholarly looking boy from the Class of '72 who worked in the cafeteria, nervously approached me. He sheepishly explained that he had washed his heavy quilts but didn't know how to sew them back together, asking if I could help. Since he asked so sincerely, of course I agreed. At that moment, Miss Chen turned her head, her large, beautiful eyes rolling upward in a dramatic arc, practically sketching a giant question mark in the air. In an empty room in the cafeteria, the quilt was already laid out on a woven reed mat, waiting for my needle. Truthfully, before that evening, I had only ever seen him through the small service windows of the cafeteria.

XVI. A One-Foot-High Cafeteria Window, and a Stunning Echo 30 Years Later

Back then, the cafeteria wall had only two small service windows, barely a foot high. At mealtimes, people would form two long queues. Because the windows were built so low, everyone had to duck their heads and bend their waists just to tell the staff inside what dishes they wanted and how many ounces of rice to scoop.

It was this very Xiao Z from the cafeteria who, in the latter half of 1974, suddenly called me out of the blue. However, it wasn't for himself—he was acting as a messenger for a friend who wanted to arrange a meeting with me.

No one could have ever guessed that thirty years later, in 2011, when I reconnected with my old classmates, our former class monitor—who was working at the Shanghai Higher Education Bureau—mentioned a colleague of his. Upon hearing my name, that colleague instantly said he knew me. And guess what? It was none other than Xiao Z from the cafeteria! As it turned out, he had been recommended and sent back to Shanghai for university even before the college entrance exams were officially reinstated in 1977.

XVII. A Crushed Acting Dream, and a Turning Back That Meant Forever

Later, a director from the Shanghai Film Studio scouted Rongrong as well, but a female factory leader crushed her acting dreams with a single, harsh accusation of "improper lifestyle." Having many suitors back then was deemed a sin in the eyes of leadership. Rumor has it that she eventually married a descendant of a capitalist and left for France. For a long time afterward, Rongrong frequently appeared in my dreams.

Years later, inside the Shanghai Theatrical Supply Store, across two glass counters, our eyes met. I saw her and her mother, and we stared at each other for a few seconds. Yet, at that crucial moment, I lacked the courage to step forward and say hello. People of that era were simply too reserved. A single turn of the back, and a missed connection became forever.

XVIII. Old S’s "Dodging Technique" and Another Failed College Exam

My thoughts are drifting again—let us steer back to the accounting office of 1978. "The College Student" helped me solve a few tough math and physics problems, though he didn't actually teach me much; he mostly just loved to brag and chat. Consequently, whenever he came over to talk, Accountant D would start his routine of coming over to open drawers. But Old S was a veteran. Relying on his familiar relationship with Accountant D, whenever the drawers started rattling, he would simply twist his body out of the way, wait for Accountant D to leave, and keep right on talking.

The college exam acceptance rate in 1977 was a meager 4.8%. By 1978, applicants increased by 400,000, bumping the acceptance rate to 6.59%. The cutoff score that year was 300 points. I scored 290, falling short once again.

XIX. From Xujiahui to the Levee: Pure Innocence Framed in Wildflowers

In July 1978, my niece Xiao Y, carrying her backpack, traveled with me. We took the Route 94 bus, transferred to Route 44 to Xujiahui, caught the Xu-Min Line to the old Minhang Ferry, crossed the Huangpu River to Xidu in Fengxian County, and finally boarded the West Main Line long-distance bus. After a grueling four-hour journey, we reached the final stop at the old Wusi Farm headquarters, then walked for another half hour, arriving at the team covered in dust.

Accountant D’s son, Xiao WX, was visiting the team with his father during those days. He was terribly camera-shy and awkward. I told him, "WX, go pick some flowers for Xiao Y." He trotted off into the nearby wild grass, gathered a small bunch, and ran back to present them to her. I quickly captured that shot—so natural, so pure.

XX. Backlight by the Suitang River, and the Liberated Curled Bangs

I asked the College Student to take some photos of us along the Suitang River and the rammed-earth levee. Looking at those 1978 photos, I notice my bangs were curled. That was the year fashionable women with long, permed waves started appearing on the streets of Shanghai. Lacking that level of boldness, I only dared to curl my bangs and the tips of my braids. Perming hair had been strictly forbidden during the Cultural Revolution, condemned as a bourgeois lifestyle.

As the western sun began to dip below the horizon, I took my very first backlit photo. In those days, photography was strictly centered around people. It felt like "I" had to be in every frame, because capturing just the scenery seemed like a total waste of precious film.

XXI. The Mysterious Darkroom Under the Red Light: Farewell to 1978

Old S even took Xiao Y and me into the farm's darkroom, his solitary workspace. Stepping inside for the first time, enveloped in a mysterious red glow, felt like entering an entirely different world. Watching him develop photos was fascinating. He even hand-colored some of my old photographs—toning some in sepia, seemingly by adding dye to the developing fluids, while meticulously painting others by hand. The moment the door opened and we stepped back outside, the sudden light was blinding, leaving me with a lingering nostalgia for that mysterious world inside.

Long afterward, I heard that "the College Student" had finally granted his wish and transferred back to his hometown in Fujian.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第三百五十六篇