1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 140 Where is Liu Heng?
Jiang Xian didn't have time to waste with them.

After getting a general understanding of the situation of each family, he said, "I'll think about it carefully later," and sent them all away.

It can be said that each of these four film studios has its own advantages.

Beijing Film Studio, needless to say, it’s my old place and I’m familiar with everything about it.

For Shanghai Film Studio, the name Xie Jin is its biggest trademark; he is very good at making this kind of story film.

At the Xi'an Film Studio, Teng Wenji directed "Blood Romance" and was also the original director of "The Chess King". However, Jiang Xian did not think that the filming of that film was very successful, and he did not have a good impression of the director.

His son Teng Huatao is also a director, and has directed "Love Is Not Blind", "Waiting for the Wind" and "Fortress X".

Emei Film Studio has experience in adapting scar literature. Last year, it filmed "The Sacred Mission". Director Teng Jinxian is even more exaggerated. He wrote the film script "The Last Emperor" and later became the director of the Optoelectronics Department.

With so many film studios flocking to his door, even Jiang Xian was overwhelmed by the choices. He had to calm down and think carefully.

He decided to deliver the manuscript first, riding his bicycle to the editorial office of "Beijing Literature and Art".

Push open the familiar door of the small office.

"Teacher Dening!"

After calling out but getting no response, Jiang Xian then realized that Zhang Dening's seat was empty.

"Writer Jiang? Are you looking for Teacher Dening?" Liu Heng looked up and saw him, and explained, "Teacher Dening is out collecting manuscripts."

"Where did you go to collect the manuscript?"

"Inner Mongolia, she went to ask the writer Lin Er to write a manuscript."

"Lin Er?"

Jiang Xian didn't have much impression. The literary world is so vast that he didn't know every writer. Among the writers from Inner Mongolia, he knew Ma Laqinfu.

"Are you here to hand her the manuscript?"

Liu Heng stood up and poured him a cup of hot water. "How about you leave it here with me first, and I'll give it to Teacher Dening when she comes back."

"Alright."

Jiang Xian took out the manuscript of "Letter from a Stranger" from his bag and put it on Liu Heng's desk.

"Is it a short story?" Liu Heng observed the thickness of the book. "How many words are there?"

"More than thirty-two thousand words."

Jiang Xian reminded: "I'll leave it to you, don't lose it."

Liu Heng was a man of many thoughts. After hearing what Jiang Xian said, he grinned.

"Are you afraid that I will steal the manuscript? Don't worry, even if you give me ten times the courage, I won't dare to argue with Teacher Dening."

This kid has a high EQ.

Jiang Xian chuckled and drank the water in the cup. "I'll go back first. I have other things to do there."

"Teacher Jiang, take care." Liu Heng walked him to the door, and before leaving, he couldn't help but ask, "Teacher Jiang, can I see your manuscript?"

He nodded, indicating that he had no objection to it.

Liu Heng returned to the office and first finished reviewing the manuscript on the table. The author was an old contributor named Yu Hua, who always submitted manuscripts persistently, so much so that Liu Heng had already gotten to know him. He wrote him a rejection letter very seriously.

"'Nerve' is different from all your novels that I have read in the past. It can be seen that you tried to make some changes in your writing style. In this regard, you were successful. The shortcoming is that the idea is not deep enough and the novelty is not enough." After finishing all this, Liu Heng took a sip of water and picked up Jiang Xian's manuscript. It was the first time he read Jiang Xian's manuscript and he was surprised to find that his handwriting was extremely neat.

"A letter from an unknown woman." He read the first line softly.

A strange woman? A letter?
Liu Heng felt a little interested in reading on and continued reading.

[In the deep winter of 1948 in Beijing, Mr. Ren took a rickshaw back to his house. The housekeeper told him the news about his girlfriends. Mr. Ren was neither happy nor sad.]
After reading only the beginning, Liu Heng was a little surprised. He did not sense any pain or reflection in this novel. It was more like Zhang Jie's "Love Can't Be Forgotten", which described the passion, loneliness and sadness of love in light and sad words.

He continued to look back:

You and I live in the same courtyard, and before you moved in, the people who lived in your house were always quarreling and were very cruel to their neighbors. My mother avoided any contact with this family, so they would find fault with me whenever they had the chance, spitting and shouting dirty words behind my back.

Finally one day something went wrong. The man was caught by the detective team for stealing and was put in jail. The patrol raided their house. The seal was pasted on the door of the north room for a few days and then removed. Soon the news spread and a single gentleman who was a writer and also worked in a newspaper rented the north room.

That was the first time I heard your name.

The office door was suddenly pushed open, and Fu Yonglin came in and said, "Comrades, Comrade Yang Mo is here. Let's go to the big office and say hello to her together."

"Comrade Yang Mo is here?"

"It will be over soon."

The editors put down their work and went to the door, discussing in low voices and speculating about Yang Mo's editing level, expressing the expectations that subordinates often have for their leaders.

No one noticed that Liu Heng sat motionless in his seat, completely immersed in the world of the manuscript in front of him.

There was a three-seater sofa in the large office of the Beijing Literature and Art Editorial Department, and Yang Mo sat in the middle of the sofa.

She briefly talked about how to deliver the manuscript to her and what the procedure was.

The editors of the novel group gave brief self-introductions one by one, and Wang Meng suddenly noticed something was wrong.

"Did Liu Heng not come?"

[
His hands trembled as he put the letter down. Then he spent a long time in deep thought. He vaguely recalled a girl next door, a schoolgirl, a woman in a nightclub, but these memories were hazy and chaotic, like a stone under the rushing river, flickering and changing unpredictably.

Shadows came and went, and finally could not form a single image. He felt some traces of emotions, but he could not recall them. He seemed to feel that he had dreamed of all these images, often in deep dreams, but they were just dreams.

His eyes suddenly fell on the blue vase on the desk in front of him. The vase was empty. For the first time in all these years, the vase was empty on his birthday. He was startled: it was as if an invisible door had suddenly opened, and a cold draft from another world blew into his quiet room.

He felt death and immortal love: a thousand emotions came over him at once, and he vaguely remembered the invisible woman, floating and yet ardent, like a burst of music from afar.]
"Liu Heng?"

"Liu Heng?"

"Brother Fu."

When Fu Yonglin pushed open the door of the small office.

When he found Liu Heng among a pile of manuscripts.

He was deeply shocked!

This young man in his twenties, holding a manuscript, sat alone in his seat, sobbing and suppressing his tears.

That face that always has a smile on it.

At this moment, my eyes are filled with tears.

(Who will film The King of Chess? Please vote for your favorite director with your monthly ticket)

(End of this chapter)