精华热点
（这是我下乡时学校赠送的塑料封面的笔记本，扉页上是很激励的题词。这个本子我后来用作记录平时阅读碰到的警言妙句。一直保存了下来。）
一封未能发出的大学
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（上）
夏季，由于有个高考，整座城市的人们似乎都在围着高考学子们的需求忙碌、打转，因此被人们称为考季。
在人生的长河中我也经历过一次生命中难忘的考季，之所以说难忘是因为他无情地把我从希望的巅峰狠狠地砸向无望的深渊。
那是一九七三年的夏天。
下乡
我是一九七一年下乡的。我下乡的时候，大哥已去海南生产建设兵团两三年了。父亲和两个弟弟分别在四川和贵州的三线单位工作。
我一下乡，城市户口的一家7口人只剩年过六旬的奶奶和在单位卫生所上班的母亲在家。
下乡后，我是很努力工作的。也没人指点过，只是从小习惯了能做到的事就不要落后于人。还有当时的政治宣传也很鼓动人心：知识青年下乡是接受再教育的；要把青春献给社会主义新农村。既然人都献给农村了，还有什么舍不得？从挑砖挑瓦上山到扛树下山，个头并不高大的我从未比别人少干。记得有一次收割稻子，我竟然斗胆跟队长比赛。队里没人放牛，我去。没人喂猪，还是我去。
我跟别人不一样的是，我是队里近30名知青中唯一订报纸的人。我订的还是别人不爱看的《人民日报》。山里收不到广播，能看到报纸就不会成为聋子。邮递员每天把报纸放在山下的粮库门口，然后由队里下山买菜的釆购帮忙捎回来。晩上点煤油灯看报纸还不方便，我就尽量在白天休息时看。
下乡大概半年后，我被调到山下烧砖瓦的副业队也叫综合厂工作，住的宿舍有了电灯，我说服母亲给我买了台半导体收音机，一天三次跟着广播学英语。之所以学英语，一来是不想浪费空闲时间，二来觉得以后或许用得着。除了学英语，我也跟着大家一块看一些能找到的旧小说，旧杂志等。
文×开始的1966年，大学就停止招生了。直到1970年才开始试点招生，但是招生的性质和程序全变了。不再面向高中毕业生招生，而是直接从工农兵中推荐表现好的青年上大学。这些学生被称为“工农兵学员”这项政策一直延续到1976年，最后一批“工农兵学员”毕业是1980年。
推荐工农兵学员一事我下乡前就听说了，但觉得那是离我很远的事。你想想，所有的年轻人都可以被推荐。那个量有多大？况且那时候“唯成份论”，出身工农家庭的红五类就像是人群中的贵族，我们这些出身于知识分子家庭的虽然说没有像出身黑五类家庭的人那样遭歧视。但却是“可以教育好的子女”，是属于“二等公民”。连入团都不敢申请，哪里敢有其他非分之想？
（这是当年国是家邮政局发行的工农兵上大学纪念邮票。）
我想上学
稻子割了四茬，一眨眼我到农场两年了。进入夏天，大学招生的工作在全国铺开了。我所在的农场也随着国家的鼓点开始确定推荐上大学的人员，首先是要大家报名。但报名并不热烈，我知道个别很想上学的就没报，谁都明白还不是怕学上不成还被人笑话不自量力弄个自取其辱。但是，我报了。不管怎么说这是人往上走的机会。
过了几天，推荐名单公布了，全农场一共推荐了十三名，其中有我。要知道，当时农场不算本地青年，仅知青就有三、四百人。能被推荐那已不是“天上掉馅饼了”，那是被福星砸中了。有好友告诉我，名单在区里讨论时就好评连连一致通过了，所以到全农场平衡时没有异义稳稳地坐实了。
在知道自己被推荐的那一刻我真有些感动了，我很感谢那些朴实的山民，他们没有因为我是“二等公民”而对我另眼相看。是这么真诚地待我。我也悄悄地庆幸自己两年的努力工作汗水没白流。希望的大门终于向我开了一条缝。
这个时候传来消息：周总理对大学招生有指示，今年凡是被推荐上来的工农兵学员一律按考试成绩录取。这个消息就像是一股无形的力量把露了一条缝的希望之门彻底敝开了。这就是说我可以抛开“二等公民”的顾虑，我可以靠自己的努力考大学了。希望不再是天上的星辰，而是握在自己手中的继续努力之中了。这个消息太令我兴奋了。
正应那了句话：机遇总是留给有准备的人。我平时的自学英语，爱阅读看报都给我的这次机遇做了很好的准备。
农场准了我们备考的假，我忙回家全力复习。
备考
当年我是以一个高中毕业生的身份下乡的。但由于文×期间初中时停课两年。高中时又搞什么学工、学农、学军，再后来又因为“备战”建分校，初高中加起来真正上课的时间都不到两年，文化知识能有多少是可想而知了。
为了不被最差的物理和化学拖后腿，我回母校向老师借书，还想老师能给些指点。然而，当老师知道我已被推荐考大学都高兴极了。学校的教导主任跟我说：“继红，你这也是我们学校的光荣。你先好好复习，努力考好。考完试，请你回来给弟弟妹妹们作个报告。讲讲你的成长，也鼓励他们将来勇敢地走向社会”。我答应了。
走到这一步，我周围的熟人都很乐意来帮我。找资料、借书。我的表姐夫是二轻局的高工，五十年代中山大学数学系毕业的，在我妈妈的请求下，他允诺我可以在上班时间去他单位，他给我讲讲数学。我大概去了三四次。
考前体检的时候，一位护士阿姨看着我小腿肚上两寸来长的疤痕怜惜地问我：“孩子，怎么弄的？”我笑了笑说：“在山上搬石头时不小心划的。”“这亲妈看见该多心疼。”“我妈不知道，我没跟她说过。”护士阿姨的眼里多了欣赏。”我知道，你们能被推荐考大学，都是表现很 好的，都是吃了不少苦的”
考试
终于到了“刺刀见红”上考场的一刻了。广州郊区十大农场共两百多考生。考场设在一个中学里。我记得一共考了两天。印象较深的是第一天下午的语文考试。开考大约一小时，天色骤然暗下来，暴雨将来临。老师拉亮了电灯。但下雨前低气压的那个热好难受。那个年代别说空调连电风扇都没有。几十个成年人挤在一个教室，人就像是被放进了蒸笼，汗湿的衣服贴着脊背。还好我带了手绢，额头和手臂上的汗只能用手绢擦。有男生好狼狈，一不注意试卷都被汗湿了。
笔试考完几天后，招生办通知了部分考生参加招考院校的面试，人数并不多。给我面试的是广州师范学院英语系的老师。她打开一本中学英语课本指着上面的句子叫我念。老实说，当年的中学英语课教的是很简单的几句口号，加上我跟着广播电台学英语发音还是标准的。我一点都没犯难。
接着她又说了几句简单的生活用语，让我译成英语。当我说了几句后，那位老师的眼睛一下子亮了：“你在哪里学的英语？” ”我用半导体收音机跟广播电台学的”“哎呀，我今天面试了这么多人，你是最棒的。”老师很高兴地说。
这时旁边一直没开口的另一位老师问我：“你家里父母亲是干什么的？”“我爸是工程师，我妈是医生”。没想到那位老师竟然一拍桌子，兴奋地说：“我说的吗，这知识分子家庭的孩子就是不一样”。”如果上大学学英语你愿意吗？”他接着问我。 “愿意！”我当时心里想只要不学化学，学啥都行。
临了，两位老师好像不放心，不但留了我家地址还问我要电话号码。那个年代电话是很少的。我把我们家属大院传达室的电话给了老师。
走出面试考场，我心里想，我可能真的要离开农场了。因为面试前场部就有人传出消息说我笔试考得不错。
面试回来后，我的中学母校就给农场发了公函邀请我回校作报告。有了这次面试的经历，我的心里有了底气，踌躇满志。那天下午，在一千来人的学弟学妹面前我侃侃而谈。我跟大家说，不要有出身不如人的思想包袱。你好好干，贫下中农都会看在眼里的。我也讲了山里人是怎么对人好，讲了自己的知青生活等等。因为讲的全是实话，我一点都没心虚。
这个作报告的场面与平时那些劳作的画面都永远留在了我生命相册里知青生活的那一页。
接着，就听场部搞招生的人说我们农场13名考生考取了5名，其中有我。大家都深信不疑我马上就要离开了。同宿舍一位姐妹很难受地说：“继红，你走的时候最好别让我看见”。
一封未能发出的高考
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（下）
告别
山里人对人很实诚，开始有人给我送自留地里收下的瓜果。送的人有熟悉的，也有不那么熟悉的。如果我不在宿舍，也会放在门前的窗台上，留话”这是给继红的”。
我是后来才明白这是为什么。他们虽然穷，虽然文化水平低。但是他们的思想观念深处是崇拜读书识字的。儒家的万般皆下品，惟有读书高的理念在这里，在这些穷人心里还是占据着很重要的地位。当年的农场就是农科所和场部，场部医院有屈指可数的几位大学生。几乎没有什么读书人。（我们这些知青不算）
我开始悄悄地做离开农场的准备。
我们这个副业队是烧砖瓦的。队里有5名正在接受劳动改造的“五类分子”（地富反坏右）他们干的是最重的活，除了工作上的需要，平常鲜有职工与他们主动搭话。即使说话，不管老少对他们都是直呼其名。
有一名“右派”，姓李，是辽宁人，大概有四五十岁的样子。（在此暂且叫他李老师吧）这李老师中等的个子。常年见他从头到脚都被泛着光泽的古铜色的皮肤裹着，他负责放水泡泥、和泥还要放牛。一年到头，很少看见他那双脚没泥的时候。但他鼻梁上那副与皮肤很不和谐的近视眼镜后面，那双有神的眼睛永远是温和的。
李老师身上发生的一件事情，让我知道他是我们队甚至是整个作业区文化水平最高的人。
一天，他放牛经过山坡上的小学校，从教室传来孩子们大声念英语的声音。他听后觉得孩子们念得很不准。于是向领导提出他可以不放弃现在的工作给孩子们教英语。他还保证，只教英语其他什么都不说。谁都明白，他想教英语不是为了逃避劳动，更不是想多得到一点收入。但没人敢批准。我那时候年轻不懂，现在回头看看，其实这个不批准对他是很残忍的。
李老师终究没有当成老师。但从那以后我开始留意他。我佩服他做人在这么卑微的时候还很清楚自己的价值。平时没人或人少的时候也会跟他说一两句话。
想到自己快走了。我决定跟他说一声。“我要走了”。
“噢”，他温和的眼睛带着惊喜看着我，等着我解释。
“我要去上学了，可能会学英语”。
“是这里推荐你去上学？”“哎呀，太好了，太好了，太好了”。他连说了三声太好了，一脸的高兴。
少倾，他接着说：“国家什么时候都是需要有文化的人才”。他这话跟学校的老师，跟父亲给我的家信一个意思。
风向变了
就在我等待通知走进校园的时候。八月十日，人民日报发表了社论《一份发人深省的答卷》，全国的招生工作全停了。
事情大致是：辽宁一名叫张铁生的考生。语文仅得38分，数学61分，物理化学共得6分。在考场就明知无望的他不甘心被淘汰，在考卷背面给领导写了一封信。意思是自己考得不好并不是底子差。而是因为考前忙于农活，没有时间看书。如果给他两天时间一定能考好……好像还说了看不惯有些“大学迷”只顾自己考试……。
这信在全国引起轩然大波。当时我们知青也议论得很热烈。大家的共识是这个人很想上大学，但自相矛盾。几天的温习你都认为耽误农活。那你上大学要离开几年又算什么？
力争在推荐生中按成绩录取的主张终究未能站住。最终按什么决定去留我就不得而知了。
后来，再没有人告诉我招生信息了。大概两三周后，我看到作业区的手扶拖拉机送两位拿着行李的考生离去。方才明白自己落选了。后来得知，我们农场13名考生走了8人，其中一名是农场干部的儿子，我知道在之前的录取名单中并没有他。
……
那扇希望的大门重重地无情地关上了。“白卷英雄”考场上无聊发泄的一封信，狠狠地把我从希望的巅峰砸向无望的深渊 。不是一直认可我工作表现好吗？不是说我考试也考得好吗？不是说我接受再教育最有进步吗？偏偏被淘汰的也是我。难道“可以教育好的子女”永远没有教育好的时候？
憋着巨大的委屈，我还不敢在农场哭。借口家里奶奶病了，跟队长请了两天事假。下班后，独自骑了二十多公里自行车回家。
一到家，扔开自行车，扑到自己的床上，再也忍不住的眼泪伴着哭声像水库开了闸倾泄而下。奶奶和妈妈两人站在床边心疼地望着我，束手无策。
过了好一会，奶奶心疼地说：“好了，好了，咱不哭了”。“你才20岁，以后的路还长着呢”，“今年不行，咱明年再考”。一听奶奶这话我哭得声更大了。“全农场几百个知青，谁不想走？谁不想上学？今年人家推荐了你，明年还会推你吗？” “我今年是可以教育好的子女，明年还是可以教育好的子女。”谁能告诉我这可以教育好的子女怎样才是教育好了？我什么时候才能不用被再教育了？
那一晚，我不知道自己是怎么睡着的……
第二天，我没有惊动妈妈和奶奶。跟平常回农场一样清晨五点我就推着自行车静静地出门了，赶在场里上班钟声敲响的时候回到队里。
奶奶说得对，我才20岁，以后的路还很长。
人生碰上了意想不到，可以打个趔趄，但不该停下来。
……
我又继续着每天趟着泥水，完成脱480个砖坯的任务。
人生路上遇见的第一场严峻的考试我可以说答完卷了。
后记
我能迈过没上成大学这道坎，有一个人的名字是我永远不能忘的，他是1963年下乡的知青，我叫他华哥。自打我下乡认识他以后，他总是很乐意地帮我。那天，当他知道我要请两天假就明白我的心思了。他很诚恳地跟我说：“你躲得了一天两天，能躲一辈子吗？”“你不能让人认为你这么不堪一击”。话不多却很有力量。对他的感激我一直记到现在。
在此，我还要感谢当年住同一宿舍的姐妹们，自打我落选，她们就从没在我面前谈论考大学的话题。
“白卷英雄”张铁生在考场上百无聊赖的一封信改变了我的命运，也改变了全国跟我同样遭遇的千千万万年轻人的命运。我们这批人的这不同寻常的经历，成了那个特殊时代的纪念品。
而就张铁生本人而言，确是“因信改命“了。因为这信，给他引来了一段跌宕起伏的人生。他不但顺利地迈进了大学之门，还“腾”地一下身份巨变，迅速入了党，成了在读院校的党组成员；党委副书记。不到两年又当选了人大代表。继而又成为第四届人大常委。地位的变化就像是坐上了“火箭”。
然而，正如老子言：“祸兮福所倚，福兮祸所伏。” 貌似福气的地位变化却又被带进了难以自拔的政治漩涡。从而被“四人帮”利用，给自己招来15年的牢獄之祸。
人生的路上，机遇和意外都会无常出现。没有人能时刻准备好。但是做人的原则我们却是可以时时把握的，那就是选择从善弃恶。
A Letter That Never Was Sent: The University Admission Letter
By Wang Jihong
(This notebook with a plastic cover was a gift from my school when I went to the countryside. The front page had an encouraging inscription. I later used it to record the wise sayings and beautiful sentences I came across while reading. I’ve kept it until now.)
A Letter That Never Was Sent: The University Admission Letter
(Part 1)
In the summer, because of the college entrance exam, it seemed as though the entire city was revolving around the needs of the students taking the exam, hence it was called "exam season."
In the long river of life, I, too, went through a memorable exam season. It was unforgettable because it cruelly shattered me, hurling me from the peak of hope into the abyss of despair.
That was the summer in 1973.
Going to the Countryside
I was sent to the countryside in 1971. When I went, my eldest brother had already been in the Hainan Production and Construction Corps for two or three years. My father and two younger brothers were working in state-run factories in Sichuan and Guizhou.
Once I was sent to the countryside, our family of seven, all with urban household registration, was reduced to just my grandmother, who was over sixty, and my mother, who worked at the village clinic.
After being sent to the countryside, I worked hard. No one told me how to do things; I had simply grown up with the habit of always striving to keep up with others. The political propaganda at the time was very motivating, too: young intellectuals should go to the countryside for reeducation and dedicate their youth to building a socialist new countryside. Since we had already been sent to the countryside, what was there left to hesitate about? From carrying bricks and tiles up the mountain to hauling trees down, I, not very tall, never worked less than anyone else. I remember once, while harvesting rice, I even dared to compete with the team leader. If there was no one to herd the cattle, I did it. If there was no one to feed the pigs, I did it.
What set me apart from others was that I was the only one among the nearly 30 young intellectuals in the team who subscribed to a piece of newspaper. I subscribed to the People's Daily, a paper no one else wanted to read. In the mountains, there was no radio reception, so being able to read the paper meant I wouldn’t be cut off from the outside world. The postman would drop off the paper at the grain depot at the foot of the mountain, and then someone from the team who was going down to buy vegetables would bring it back for me. In the evening, reading by kerosene lamp was not ideal, so I tried to read during the day when I could rest.
About half a year after being sent to the countryside, I was transferred to a subsidiary team, the brick and tile factory at the foot of the mountain, where the dormitory had electric lights. I persuaded my mother to buy me a semiconductor radio, and I would follow the broadcasts to learn English three times a day. I studied English not just to avoid wasting my spare time, but also because I thought it might be useful in the future. In addition to learning English, I also read whatever old novels, magazines, or books I could find.
In 1966, at the start of the Cultural Revolution, university enrollment was suspended. It wasn’t until 1970 that the government resumed university admissions on a trial basis, but the nature and process of enrollment had changed. Universities no longer admitted high school graduates, but instead selected outstanding young people from workers, peasants, and soldiers. These students were known as "workers, peasants, and soldiers' students." This policy lasted until 1976, with the final batch of these students graduating in 1980.
I had heard of this system before I went to the countryside, but I thought it had nothing to do with me. After all, every young person could be recommended. How could that apply to me? Moreover, back then, social status was determined by one’s family background, and being from an intellectual family meant I was considered a "second-class citizen," even though we weren’t as discriminated against as those from "black" families. We were seen as children who could be "reeducated"—still inferior to the workers and peasants, though not as bad as the "black families." We didn’t even dare to apply to join the Communist Youth League, let alone entertain any other lofty dreams.
I Wanted to Go to School
After harvesting four rounds of rice, I realized I had been at the farm for two years. Summer arrived, and the nationwide university admissions process began. Our farm also started selecting candidates for university, with the first step being to have everyone sign up. But the response was lukewarm. I knew that some who really wanted to go to school didn’t even sign up, fearing they would be laughed at if they failed to get in. But I signed up. After all, this was an opportunity to move forward in life.
A few days later, the list of recommended candidates was announced. Thirteen names from the entire farm were on the list, and I was one of them. The farm was not a local youth organization, and there were three to four hundred young intellectuals working there. To be recommended was not a "windfall"—it felt like being struck by a lucky star. A friend told me that the recommendation had passed without any objections during the district-level discussion. So when it was finalized at the farm, there was no opposition.
When I found out I had been recommended, I was truly moved. I was so grateful to the simple people in the mountains. They didn’t look at me differently just because I was from a "second-class" family. They treated me so sincerely. I quietly rejoiced, knowing that my two years of hard work and sweat hadn’t been in vain. The door of hope had finally opened a crack. Just as I was basking in this joy, news came: Premier Zhou Enlai had given instructions that this year, all "workers, peasants, and soldiers" students recommended for university would be admitted based on their exam results. This news was like an invisible force that slammed open the door of hope. It meant that I could now cast aside my "second-class citizen" worries, and I could enter university on my own merit. Hope was no longer a distant star in the sky—it was now something within my grasp, something I could work for. This news made me so excited!
As the saying goes: Opportunity always favors those who are prepared. My self-study of English and my love of reading had prepared me well for this opportunity.
The farm granted us time to prepare for the exam, and I rushed home to focus entirely on my studies.
Preparing for the Exam
I had gone to the countryside as a high school graduate, but during the Cultural Revolution, classes were suspended for two years in junior high, and in high school, there were periods of "work-study" programs, farming, and military training. Later, there were efforts to establish branch schools for "war preparedness," and the actual time spent in school during both junior high and high school added up to less than two years. So, the cultural and scientific knowledge I had was minimal.
To avoid being dragged down by poor grades in physics and chemistry, I went back to my old school to borrow textbooks, hoping the teachers would give me some guidance. When they heard I had been recommended for university, they were so excited. The school’s headmaster told me, "Jihong, this is also an honor for our school. Study hard, and do your best in the exams. Afterward, come back and give a report to the younger students. Talk about your growth and encourage them to bravely step into society in the future." I promised I would.
At this stage, all my friends and acquaintances were eager to help me. They found materials and lent me books. My cousin’s husband, an engineer at a light industry bureau, had graduated from the Mathematics Department of Sun Yat-sen University in the 1950s. At my mother's request, he agreed to help me learn some maths. I probably visited him three or four times.
During the pre-exam medical checkup, a nurse noticed a two-inch-long scar on my calf and asked with pity, "Child, how did you get that?" I smiled and replied, "I got scratched while moving rocks in the mountains." She said, "Your mother must be heartbroken to see this." "My mom doesn’t know; I never told her." The nurse’s eyes showed a mix of admiration. "I know," she said, "you must have worked hard to get recommended for the university. You've suffered a lot."
The Exam
Finally, the day of the exam arrived. More than 200 candidates from the ten farms in the suburbs of Guangzhou gathered at the examination hall of a middle school. I remember the exam lasted two days. What I remember most was the Chinese exam on the first afternoon. About an hour into the exam, the sky suddenly darkened, and a heavy rain was about to fall. The teacher turned on the lights, but the low atmospheric pressure before the rain made the heat unbearable. Back then, there was no air conditioning, and not even electric fans. Dozens of people crammed into one classroom, and it felt like being put into a steamer, our clothes soaked with sweat, sticking to our backs. Thankfully, I had a handkerchief, and I used it to wipe the sweat from my forehead and arms. Some of the boys looked awful, and one careless move caused their exam papers to get soaked with sweat.
A few days after the written exam, the admissions office notified some of the candidates to attend interviews at the universities. Not many were selected for interviews. The teacher who interviewed me was from the English department of Guangzhou Normal University. She opened a middle school English textbook, pointed to a sentence, and asked me to read it. To be honest, the English taught in middle school at that time was quite basic, and since I had been learning pronunciation from the radio, my pronunciation was standard. I had no trouble at all.
She then said a few simple sentences in everyday language and asked me to translate them into English. After I translated a few, her eyes lit up. "Where did you learn English?" she asked. "I learned it from a semiconductor radio, following the broadcasts," I replied.
"Wow, you’re the best I’ve seen today!" she exclaimed.
Then, another teacher, who had been silent until then, asked, "What do your parents do?"
"My father is an engineer, and my mother is a doctor."
To my surprise, the teacher clapped his hands excitedly and said, "I knew it! Children from intellectual families are always different."
"If you get into university and study English, would you like that?" he asked.
"Yes!" I thought to myself, I’ll study anything as long as it's not chemistry.
Finally, as if not fully convinced, the two teachers asked for my home address and phone number. At that time, phones were rare, so I gave them the phone number of the relay station in our residential compound.
As I left the interview room, I thought to myself, "I might really be leaving the farm." There had already been rumors circulating that I had done well in the written exam.
After the interview, my middle school sent a letter to the farm inviting me to return and give a report. After this experience, I felt confident and full of ambition. That afternoon, I gave a speech in front of about a thousand younger students. I told them, "Don’t feel burdened by the idea that others may be from better backgrounds. If you work hard, the poor, hardworking peasants will see it. They treat people with real sincerity." I also talked about the kindness of the people in the mountains and shared my experiences as a young intellectual. Since everything I said was true, I didn’t feel any guilt.
This speech, along with the scenes of hard work in the fields, will forever remain in my life album—on the page dedicated to my experience as a young intellectual.
A Letter That Never Was Sent: The University Admission Letter (Part 2)
Parting
The people in the mountains are very sincere. Some began to send me fruits and vegetables from their private plots. Some were familiar faces, others not so much. If I wasn’t in the dormitory, they would leave them on the windowsill with a note saying, "This is for Jihong."
I only understood why later. Though they were poor and had little formal education, they held deep admiration for those who could read and write. The Confucian idea that "all occupations are inferior, only reading is noble" was still alive in their hearts. Back then, the farm was a mixture of the agricultural research institute and the farm administration, with only a handful of university graduates working at the farm hospital. There were almost no educated people (and we young intellectuals didn’t count).
I quietly began preparing to leave the farm.
Our team worked in a brick and tile factory, and there were five "five-category people" (landlords, rich peasants, counterrevolutionaries, bad elements, and rightists) undergoing labor reform in our team. They did the heaviest work, and except when necessary, the staff seldom spoke to them. Even if they did, they would just call them by name, regardless of age.
One of them, a "rightist" named Li, was from Liaoning. He was about forty or fifty years old. (For now, I’ll call him "Teacher Li.") Li was of average height, with bronze-colored skin from years of hard labor. He was always covered in dust and mud, responsible for mixing clay and herding cattle. His feet were rarely seen clean, but his eyes, though hidden behind thick glasses, always held a kind and gentle expression.
There was an incident involving Teacher Li that made me realize he was the most educated person in our team, perhaps even in the entire work zone. One day, while herding cattle, he passed by the small school on the hillside and heard the children loudly reciting English. After hearing their mistakes, he felt compelled to offer to teach English to the children, despite already having a heavy workload. He promised not to discuss anything other than English. Everyone understood that he wasn’t asking for a way out of work or seeking extra income, but no one dared to approve his request. I was too young to understand at the time, but now I realize how cruel that decision was.
Teacher Li never became a teacher. But after that, I began to pay attention to him. I admired the clarity with which he understood his worth, even in such humble circumstances. When there were fewer people around, I would exchange a few words with him.
As I prepared to leave the farm, I decided to tell him. "I’m leaving," I said.
"Oh," he looked at me with surprise in his gentle eyes, waiting for me to explain.
"I’m going to school. I might study English," I said.
"Was it the farm that recommended you?" "Oh, that’s great, that’s wonderful, wonderful!" he exclaimed, repeating "wonderful" three times, his face filled with joy.
After a while, he said, "The country will always need educated talent." His words echoed what the school teachers and my father had written in their letters to me.
The Wind Changed
Just as I was waiting for the notification to go to school, on August 10th, People's Daily published an editorial titled "A Thought-Provoking Answer," and all recruitment work nationwide came to a halt.
The story was about a candidate named Zhang Tiesheng from Liaoning, who scored only 38 points in Chinese, 61 in math, and just 6 points in physics and chemistry. Knowing he had no hope of passing, he wrote a letter on the back of his exam paper to the leaders, explaining that his poor performance was not due to a lack of ability, but because he had been too busy with farm work to study. He asked for two more days to study, believing he could do better. He even complained about "university fanatics" who only cared about their own exams.
This letter caused an uproar across the country. We young intellectuals discussed it fervently. The consensus was that although Zhang Tiesheng was clearly eager to go to university, his actions were contradictory. If a few days of studying interfered with farm work, what would happen when he had to leave for years of university?
The proposal to admit students based on exam results, even among the recommended candidates, was eventually rejected. I never knew what ultimately determined my fate.
Later, no one informed me about the admissions results. About two or three weeks later, I saw two candidates leaving the work zone with their luggage, carried by a tractor. Only then did I realize I had been eliminated. Later, I found out that of the 13 candidates from our farm, 8 had been accepted, including the son of a farm leader, who wasn’t even on the original list.
The door of hope slammed shut mercilessly. Zhang Tiesheng’s letter, written in frustration during the exam, crushed me from the peak of hope into the abyss of despair. Hadn’t my work been recognized? Didn’t I perform well on the exam? Didn’t everyone say I had made the most progress in reeducation? Yet I was the one who was eliminated. Was there truly no end to the "reeducation" of those who could "still be educated"?
With great frustration, I couldn’t bring myself to cry in front of anyone on the farm. I made an excuse that my grandmother was ill and asked for two days off. After work, I rode my bicycle the twenty or so kilometers back home alone.
When I got home, I threw my bike aside, threw myself onto my bed, and finally let the tears flow. They poured out like an overflowing dam. My grandmother and mother stood at the bedside, looking at me with pity, helpless to do anything.
After a long while, my grandmother, full of concern, said, "Alright, stop crying." "You’re only 20. You have a long road ahead of you. If it doesn’t work out this year, we’ll try again next year."
When I heard my grandmother say this, my crying only intensified. "Hundreds of young intellectuals on the farm, who doesn’t want to leave? Who doesn’t want to go to school? They recommended me this year, but who knows if they will next year?"
"I’m still a child who can be reeducated this year, and I’ll still be the same next year. But when will I be fully educated? When will I no longer need to be reeducated?"
That night, I don’t even know how I managed to fall asleep...
The next day, without waking my mother or grandmother, I quietly left at five in the morning, just like any other day, pushing my bike to the farm. I arrived back at the work team just as the work bell rang.
My grandmother was right. I was only 20, and the road ahead was still long.
When life throws unexpected challenges your way, you may stumble, but you shouldn’t stop.
I continued my work, wading through mud, completing the task of making 480 bricks.
I could say that I had finished my first great exam in life.
Epilogue
There is one person whose name I will never forget, someone who helped me greatly during this time. He was a young intellectual who went to the countryside in 1965, and I call him Brother Hua. Since the day I met him in the countryside, he was always willing to help me. When he learned I had taken a few days off, he understood my feelings and very sincerely told me, "You can hide for a day or two, but can you hide for a lifetime? You can’t let anyone think you’re so fragile."
His few words had such power, and I’ve been grateful to him ever since.
I also want to thank the sisters I lived with in the dorm. After I was eliminated, they never once brought up the topic of university admissions in front of me.
The letter written by Zhang Tiesheng in frustration during the exam changed my fate, and the fate of countless young people who had the same experience as me. The extraordinary experience of our generation has become a memento of that special time.
As for Zhang Tiesheng, he truly "changed his fate through a letter." This letter brought him a tumultuous life. He not only successfully entered university but also quickly rose in status—joining the Communist Party, becoming a member of the university’s Party Committee, and later a representative in the National People’s Congress. Within two years, he was elected to the Standing Committee of the Fourth National People’s Congress. His rapid ascent was like riding a "rocket."
However, as Laozi said, "Misfortune is where fortune hides, and fortune is where misfortune lies." His seemingly fortuitous rise in status led him into a political whirlpool from which he could not escape. Ultimately, he was used by the "Gang of Four" and spent 15 years in prison.
On the road of life, opportunities and accidents appear unexpectedly. No one can always be ready. But the principles of being a good person are something we can always uphold. That is, choose good over evil.
翻译：陈耿森
校对：王天元
作者简介
王继红，笔名：浩 男，学历：在职中央广播电视大学中文系、金融系毕业。 热爱文学，用文字温暖心灵，用文字记下曾经经历的。
