1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 212: Sacrificing Myself and Dedicating Myself Completely to Literature
The capital city in early September was so colorful that it seemed as if it was covered with a brocade robe.

At the Institute of Literature and Art, several female students were comforting Tie Ning, who was crying with red eyes in the cafeteria, and Wang Anyi was tearing a piece of pink high-grade wrinkled toilet paper for her.

"We clearly agreed not to write about you guys, but you guys published more than one another."

Listening to Tie Ning's complaints, Zhang Kengkeng consoled him with a guilty look on his face, "We usually write a little bit, how can we not write at all?"

"Yeah yeah."

"The most outrageous one is Comrade Mo Shen."

"He was the one who shouted the loudest at the beginning, saying that he couldn't write. As a result, he published several thick collections of short and medium-length stories."

"Isn't Jiang Xian the most outrageous one?" At this time, Wang Xiaoying said quietly from the side.

When the name was mentioned, everyone fell silent.

The "Survey Form on Creative Achievements of the Fifth Literary Institute" has been collected. This information is public and students can look through it.

So, the students saw the form filled out by Jiang Xian titled “Creative achievements during study in the academy”.

发表在《京城文艺》的短篇小说《一个陌生女人的来信》（1980年5期），人民文学出版社出版长篇小说《米》，《1978-1980江弦短篇小说集选》等2本小说集，发表在《人民X报》的《关于建立中国现代文学馆的倡议！》（1980年7月3日），发表在《电影创作》的电影文学剧本《棋王》、《车水马龙》（同1980年8期）
There is one last line:

"I will soon publish the novel "Glass Moon Shining on Copper Coin Street" in "Harvest"; I will soon publish the TV drama script "Sancha Lane Robbery" in "Film Creation"; I will soon complete a novel."

Wang Xiaoying was stunned when he saw it.

The paper given by the lecture hall was the manuscript paper of "People's Literature", with gray-green grid, 16-page, and 280 words.

Most of their students couldn't even fill in the grid on a page.

Jiang Xian's grandson wrote two full pages!
"He is not a human being, really not a human being." Wang Xiaoying cursed viciously.

She was so angry that her teeth itched.

Go ahead and write. Who can write better than you?

Jiang Xian must have not heard this, otherwise he would have felt that he was wronged.

He had clearly been very restrained, and the English translation to be published in The New Yorker had not yet been written.

The one who is more distressed than Tie Ning is Chen Shixu.

He is now in a dilemma and in great pain, and can be described as "a man alone and miserable".

During his time at the Institute of Literature and Art, he only had one short story published in Wenhui Monthly.

Afterwards, the editor of the novel told him that he had received a call from Comrade Wang Meng, and his instructor Wang Meng said seriously: Such substandard works should not be published.

He found Li Qingquan and invited him to the walnut forest behind the dormitory. He walked back and forth in the forest, stepping on leaves and kicking clods of earth, and asked him for advice.

"I can write about the general of a small town, but why can't I write about the marshal of a city?" Chen Shixu looked distressed.

Nowadays, many people in the Writers Association in his hometown are making fun of him for "having only one child".

Li Qingquan showed a pure and serious expression, "I thought you were very arrogant because you were successful at a young age, but I didn't expect you to be so honest."

"I'm not honest at all."

Chen Shixu smiled helplessly, "I just dare not be dishonest in front of you. I have read few books, elementary and junior high school textbooks, and a few Chinese and foreign poetry anthologies. I probably just got lucky and wrote a good piece. I can't be an outstanding writer."

Li Qingquan smiled, "Because you didn't sacrifice yourself and devote yourself completely to literature."

It was cloudy in the afternoon, and the sun shone intermittently in the woods, warm and gentle. Chen Shixu looked up at him.

Li Qingquan said: "Comrade Jiang Xian submitted an article to the institute. You can take a look at it."

Chen Shixu was stunned. He took a stack of manuscripts from Li Qingquan and found a secluded place to sit down.

"You wrote so much?"

He flipped through the manuscript and felt that there were about 100,000 words. The handwriting should have been from a copyist. The title of the work was written at the beginning:
"The Glazed Moon Shines on Copper Coin Street."

"Liuliyue, Copper Coin Street? What do they mean?"

With some confusion, he looked at the first sentence.

“Honestly speaking, when I first met Li Rand, I didn’t see anything special about him, but as time goes by, few people don’t acknowledge his greatness.

The greatness I'm talking about is not those officials who got lucky, nor the generals who became well-known on the battlefield. Their reputations are bright because of the light of the clothes they wear. Once the wind and clouds change, the light will also disappear. The goodness of Li Land is rooted, and it will not be shaken by wind and rain. "

Chen Shixu frowned.

When he wrote this at the beginning, he felt as if an experienced old man walked by his side. He picked up a chair and sat down, then patted him on the shoulder and said, "Come, let me tell you about life."

He then looked down.

The following text was still in the same tone. The old man had a smile on his face. He was wearing a neat suit, looking like a real old man. He drank his wine with a deep gaze and spoke at a slow pace, telling him about the endless boredom of that era.

Shanghai at that time was known as an "adventurer's paradise" in the eyes of foreigners. Gangsters, villains, gangsters, fugitives, and missionaries sat on flagships, rowed yachts, engaged in speculation, and moved around. It was a real foreign concession.

I was lucky enough to write a "book" that was highly appreciated by the celebrity circle. Every day I spent my days in a room full of guests, stuffy and full of celebrities and great figures.

They often expected me to say something witty, but by the end of the tea party, I still couldn't think of anything funny, so I had to hope that no one would pay attention to me.

It was at that time that I heard that Mrs. Chen Si, the daughter of an officer, particularly liked my novels. I had a lot in common with her. Mrs. Chen Si was a socialite and a good wife and mother.

I asked others.

"What does her husband do?"

"I work for foreigners as a stockbroker. It's very boring."

"Are they on good terms?"

"They treated each other with respect. Mr. Li only married her as his wife. He was quiet and didn't like literature or art. He didn't smoke, watch plays, or attend dances. He didn't pay attention to novels or paintings."

"Why do such gentle and lovely ladies always marry such fools?"

"Maybe it's because no sane person would marry a likable woman."

Chen Shixu couldn't help but raise the corner of his mouth. Jiang Xian's writing was really sarcastic.

This is just the beginning.

The following text is still written in the tone of an old man who is venomous, three parts mean and seven parts arrogant.

The first time I met Leland, he was as mediocre as a rickshaw driver dressed up for a party.

Jiang Xian wrote like this: He is forty years old, honest, dull, a dedicated husband and father. I spent a lot of time trying to write about his flesh and blood, making him full, real and moving. I thought hard, but God, I couldn't recall any distinctive features of his.

Chen Shixu read it bit by bit. He thought the story would develop smoothly and peacefully, and finally become an inspirational story of a little man shining.

However, without any warning, without any foreshadowing, or rather, the whole thing was just foreshadowing. Leland left without saying goodbye.

Mrs. Chen Si looked very sad and asked me if I would like to go to Xiangchunshu Street to look for Li Lande.

I was just a young man who knew nothing about the world at that time. I had only met Li Lande once, and was afraid that he would scold me and tell me to mind my own business. But I was also full of energy and could not resist Mrs. Chen Si's pleading, so I agreed.

Chen Shixu was a little confused.

With such a perfect family, why would Li Lande make such a decision?
Is it true, as Mrs. Chen Si said, that Li Lande has a woman in the countryside?

It was gradually getting dark, and he touched the manuscript and found that he had already read one third of it.

Chen Shixu has developed a strong interest in reading and is extremely curious about the content that follows.

He went to find a kerosene lamp and read by the dim light.

I immediately learned the truth and read what Li Lande did on Xiangchunshu Street.

Chen Shixu felt unable to understand and even wanted to call him a bastard.

Li Land not only had no burden about abandoning his wife and children.

He was poor and dying, but Mr. Dai, a famous painter on Xiangchunshu Street, generously took him in and praised his Chinese ink paintings that no one appreciated.

As soon as he turned around, Li Lande CPUed their entire family.

He said that no one could disturb his creation, so he drove Mr. Dai out of the house in the middle of winter. He also took possession of Mr. Dai's wife and finally abandoned her. Mrs. Dai was so heartbroken that she committed suicide by taking poison.

I went to Leland to argue, and he said, "That funny little fat guy just likes to serve others. It's his habit."

"What about Mrs. Dai? She loves you with all her heart."

"I don't need love, I don't have time for love, this is a weakness of human nature, I am a man, so sometimes I need a woman, but once I get satisfaction, I will do something else.

I cannot overcome this desire, and I hope that one day in the future I will no longer be controlled by it and will be able to devote myself to my work without any hindrance.

Because women can do nothing but talk about love, they attach great importance to love, which is simply ridiculous. They also want to convince us that love is the whole life of a person.

In fact, love is an insignificant part of life. Love is a disease. Women are tools for my enjoyment. I hate asking them to be my assistants in my career or my life partners.

After reading two-thirds of the content, Li Lande's image finally jumped out on the paper
——He is a selfish, ruthless, and cold-hearted character who has almost lost his humanity, and his ideology is extremely terrifying.

The ending of the story happened several years later and is part of the memories I am telling.

Li Lande moved to Fengyangshu Village, married a country woman, and lived almost isolated from the world, singing in the countryside. He went from being an unknown, poor country man to a great painter.

Before he contracted leprosy and became blind, he painted a magnificent ink painting in a dark and narrow room. The painting was on dozens of sheets of paper, which were then mounted together to form a long scroll of about several thousand centimeters.

It was a long river, flowing through shallows, rapids, and high peaks. The river was vast, the sky and water were the same color, the leaves were withered and yellow, as if the prosperity had come to an end.

Before Leland died, he ordered his wife to burn the painting after his death.

After reading the last line of text, Chen Shixu rubbed his eyes and felt his neck was sore.

He looked up. The morning light happened to shine through the window glass of the small conference room. The golden light flickered like the burned cottage on the plain.

Chen Shixu's throat was surging, his heart was beating fast and he had a lot to say but couldn't get it out.

“It’s so well written!”

To be fair, he didn't like the core of the article.

But he was like Mr. Dai after his wife took poison. He was consumed by hatred and wanted to tear all of Li Lande's paintings into pieces. However, he was shocked after just one look at his paintings and compromised in an instant.

When he stood up again, Chen Shixu's heavy inner anxiety and social expectations seemed to disappear in an instant.

He couldn't describe his feelings, but he felt that he had felt something in the novel written by Jiang Xian.

Can you really be Leland?

Do you really want to be Leland?
What is behind great achievements?
Chen Shixu walked into the yard and could clearly hear the tinkling of wind chimes from the ancient pagoda near Zuojiazhuang in the early morning. The sound was bright and pleasant, just like the bells that the janitor used when he was in elementary school.

Jiang Xian sat upright in his seat, facing the scrutinizing eyes of the teachers, which felt a bit like a graduation thesis defense.

Gu Jianzhi adjusted his glasses, put down the manuscript in his hand, and looked at him.

"It's Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains, right?"

"Ah?" Jiang Xian was surprised.

A hint of insightful smile appeared on Gu Jianzhi's lips.

"The last painting you wrote about must be Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains, right?"

"Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains" is one of the ten most famous paintings handed down in China. It is a masterpiece of Huang Gongwang, the master of Yuan Dynasty painting, in his later years, and it is also the pinnacle of ancient ink-and-wash landscape painting.

"You not only wrote about this picture, but also included in your novel the state of mind of Huang Gongwang when he painted this picture."

Hiss.

Jiang Xian's expression moved slightly.

Seeing his reaction, Gu Jianzhi became more certain of his speculation and was quite excited. He analyzed it with reason and evidence, "Li Lande also has the shadow of Huang Gongwang."

The Yuan Dynasty divided the people of the country into four classes. When Huang Gongwang was young, he hoped to pursue a career in politics, but was wrongly imprisoned.

After he was released from prison, he stayed away from officialdom and no longer cared about political affairs. Instead, he became obsessed with landscapes. He saw everything and painted with his brush. He traveled around the country and even his family didn't know his whereabouts.

"Dwelling in Fuchun Mountains" was painted when he was in his eighties while walking on the Fuchun River.

At that time, Huang Gongwang felt that the rise and fall of dynasties, fame and fortune, were not important matters. The only thing left in his eyes was landscape painting.

Wang Jianqing, who was sitting nearby, had his eyes light up. "That makes sense! The ending of "Bronze Coin Street" is that the painting was burned. Historically, "Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains" was also burned and burned as a funeral sacrifice. Fortunately, someone rescued it."

"I see."

"You always like to hide things in your articles."

“So there is such a clever idea.”

The teachers at the Institute of Literature were talking at once.

Jiang Xian sat in a chair and listened silently, unable to say a word.

In the end, it was Li Qingquan who knocked on the table.

“Although it is somewhat controversial, overall, this is an excellent novel and deserves an excellent grade.”

Li Qingquan gave the final evaluation of Jiang Xian’s graduation work.

(Today I will update 4,000 words first, to celebrate this book getting the boutique badge, I will go out to eat hot pot to be happy)
(End of this chapter)