1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 121: Don't block the wind and stop the wolf

In January, taking advantage of their free time during the holiday, Jiang Xian and Zhu Lin went to Jingshan together to look for plum blossoms in the snow.

Since the founding of the People's Republic of China, Jingshan has changed hands several times. It first belonged to the army, then became a children's palace a few years later, and later it was changed into a park for the soldiers.

It closed in 1971 and reopened last year.

Jiang Xian pulled Zhu Lin up the small hill of more than 40 meters and they reached the middle peak without much effort. The Wanchun Pavilion was in a mess, but it was very suitable for viewing the scenery.

"The view from this place is really good." Jiang Xian put a curtain on his forehead and looked around. "I can see the Forbidden City clearly in front, and the Bell and Drum Tower is behind."

"Look, the White Pagoda of Beihai." Zhu Lin stood on tiptoe and pointed to the west.

"Is that the sea?"

"Why not?"

The two of them looked around for a long time, and Jiang Xian pointed to a yard in the east, "That's the yard I bought."

"Where?"

"Did you see that big locust tree?"

"Is it covered so tightly?"

"That's a must, otherwise they would be spying on our privacy on Jingshan Mountain." Jiang Xian looked cautious.

He didn't want Jingshan to become a tourist attraction in his hometown. Of course, it was impossible to see it at all.

The few days of leisure were quickly gone, and Jiang Xian fell into a busy state.

He had to revise the manuscript of "Fuxi Fuxi" and also attend the symposium on "Furong Town".

Before a book is published, the publishing house often prints the manuscript into two thick volumes for soliciting opinions, and then holds seminars in Beijing and Tianjin to solicit opinions.

The purpose of this kind of symposium was not to hype or create momentum as was popular in later generations, but to maximize the quality of published works.

Anyway, it’s just holding meetings, holding meetings over and over again, and listening to opinions.

No. 7 West Chang'an Avenue.

Jiang Xian came over when he had some free time, rubbed his frozen hands, and took out a thick stack of manuscripts from his bag.

"Teacher Wang, please take a look to see if there is anything wrong."

"It was fixed so quickly?" Wang Meng was surprised.

"The Chinese New Year is coming soon, and I don't want to delay it, so I'll publish it in the February issue."

Wang Meng brought him a chair and poured him a cup of hot water, "Come, warm yourself up."

"Hiss." Jiang Xian took a sip of hot water, and a warmth flowed to his limbs, making him feel much more comfortable.

Wang Meng took a quick glance at the manuscript, then put it down and said slowly, "It was thanks to Comrade Li Qingquan who overcame all objections that we finally decided to publish your manuscript."

“Is there a lot of opposition?”

"Not small." Wang Meng adjusted his glasses off his nose. "The comrades in the agency don't have a problem with you. They just think that publishing it would be risky and have some concerns."

"What does Comrade Li Qingquan think?"

"He will soon be transferred to People's Literature. You should also understand that at a time like this, the most feared thing is any mishap."

Jiang Xian was surprised, "Then why did he still go against the crowd's opinion?"

Wang Meng smiled and said, "This is exactly what I admire about him."

Hearing this, Jiang Xian looked thoughtful, and after a moment he understood what Wang Meng meant by admiration.

If anything really happened to the manuscript, Li Qingquan would be responsible. He was the main person in charge at the time. By then, he had been transferred to other units and had nothing to do with "Beijing Literature and Art". This meant that he was willing to take the risk for the manuscript.

This courage, this bravery.

Not every editor has this.

Tianjin.

"As the saying goes, 'If you don't go to Quanyechang, you've been to Tianjin in vain.'"

As a local, Feng Jicai led the way, followed by Jiang Xian and Li Jingfeng.

The three of them sat down at a street stall selling rice crust dishes at the back door of Quanyechang. Feng Jicai said that this was a famous restaurant in Tianjin. The place was small and crowded, and there was no room for even a stool.

Fortunately, the three of them were tall and strong. Jiang Xian and Li Jingfeng were in a slightly more relaxed corner, guarding a small empty table, but there were no stools to sit on.

Feng Jicai went to buy a card, queue up, and get his own food, which was quickly brought back: rice crust with soup, hot sesame cakes, braised beef in soy sauce, and old tofu.

The heat is burning and the mouth is salivating.

The braised beef has a mellow taste and the rice crust vegetable soup base is rich and fragrant.

The three of them stood in front of the table and ate with relish.

"You guys are really busy. We're preparing for the New Year and you're still thinking about the symposium." Feng Jicai put down his chopsticks.

"I'm done." Jiang Xian wiped his mouth. "I'm going back to the capital this afternoon. I didn't bring any gifts with me this time when I came to Tianjin. I'll just give you a copy of "Capital Literature and Art."

Feng Jicai took it from him. He glanced at it and saw the 1980nd issue in 2.

“Is this just published?”

"I just published an article there, and this is the sample the editorial department sent me."

"You sent out another manuscript?"

Feng Jicai's face was filled with disbelief. "Didn't you just publish your article "Lychee" in "Harvest"? How come it's published in "Beijing Literature and Art" again?"

"I had this idea a long time ago, but I had no intention of writing it down. Then Wang Meng talked to me about it and insisted that I write it down, so I did," Jiang Xian explained.

"You are really..."

Feng Jicai was in mixed feelings. He hurriedly opened the volume of "Capital Literature and Art" and saw a novel by an author named Jiang Xian on the fourth entry - "Fuxi Fuxi".

The illustration on that page used simple lines to depict an image of a rural man squatting on the ground, covering his face and crying.

The store was in a mess, so he had no time to read it. He closed the magazine and put it in his bag. After dinner, he strolled around Tianjin for a while before sending Jiang Xian and the other man to the train station.

Before leaving, Jiang Xian asked on the platform, "Write me a review after you finish reading it."

“I don’t know how to write a review.”

Feng Jicai watched the train gradually go away and disappear from his sight, then he went back home.

When he thought of Jiang Xian's novel, his injured knee became stronger and he pedaled faster.

I got home quickly, drank a sip of water, calmed my breathing, took out the magazine and sat down to read.

At first, I was a little dazed and unfocused, but once my eyes came across the paragraph, I quickly got into it and was drawn into the story.

This novel is similar to popular literature, telling the story of how fifty-year-old Yang Jinshan became a sadist because of his impotence, and how Ju Dou suffered the torture.

On the other hand, Yang Tianqing, who had inexplicable thoughts about Ju Dou, gradually discovered her misery.

[In the middle of the night, Tianqing, who was sleeping in the side room, suddenly heard a sharp howl. He groped his way out of the side room and sneaked under the window of the big north room with his bare feet.

"Uncle, you are going to twist me to death."

"Grandma! Are you feeling better? You are feeling better this time!"

".I won't live!"

"You are a piece of shit that can't be strangled or bitten to death! Are you going to scream or not?"

I don’t know what method was used, but the woman’s scream seemed to be blocked, and turned into a chaotic sound of grumbling. The edge of the kang banged against each other, as if pulling my head and knocking it. My uncle was so amused that he kept panting and tossing over and over on the kang mat, just like he was constantly flipping a torn sack filled with grain.]
Ju Dou was suffering in unbearable pain and was humiliated and tortured by Yang Jinshan. Yang Tianqing was also sad. The woman of his love was tortured like this, but he was a coward and just wanted to lie on the woman's chest and cry.

Finally one day:
A large amount of saliva suddenly flowed out of Tianqing's throat, burning the root of his tongue like aged potato wine.

"Aunt——"

"What?"

"I had a terrible dream last night."

"Dad Meng is here, Mom Meng is here?"

"Dream - I dreamt that my aunt was crying."

"I cry? Why do I cry?"

Ju Dou turned her red smiling face to him, which was full of hidden meanings, but Tian Qing didn't look at it, but only studied the lower parts of the face, his eyes fluctuating. After all, Ju Dou was experienced and confident that he had the power to control.

"Tianqing, are you scared?"

"——What are you afraid of?"

"If you're not afraid, why do you keep your nest tightly closed?"

"The wind is strong, so if you don't block the wind, you can't block the wolves."

"Do you think I look like a wolf?"

"Aunt——"

Feng Jicai held the magazine in his hands, his eyes close to it, reading word by word. He felt that the earthy smell of the words was accompanied by a fierce and brutal force like a knife cutting flesh.

Ju Dou reached into Yang Tianqing's clothes:

"Tutuo, look at your poor aunt. Do I look like a wolf?"

"Tianqing, you love me!"

"Ju Dou! My dear Ju Dou——"

"My dear little dove!"

"grass!"

Seeing this, Feng Jicai slapped his thigh.

"Absolutely awesome!"

(End of this chapter)