1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 29: Revision, Putting It into Writing

The symposium was jointly held by "Beijing Literature and Art" and "People's Literature".

The meeting will discuss selected works such as Jiang Xian's "The Chess King", Zhang Jie's "The Child from the Forest", and Li Tuo's "Wish You Hear This Song".

Zhang Dening revealed that for this symposium, Wei Junyi, the "old lady" of "People's Literature", specially invited Zhou Yang and Feng Mu to attend. Central x leaders will also be present. One must be careful about the degree of one's speech at the meeting, but one must also say what needs to be said.

Jiang Xian’s pressure doubled. It could be said that this was his first encounter since entering the literary world.

He was not afraid, he just had never experienced such a situation before.

Feng Mu was a literary critic and the editor-in-chief of the Literary Gazette. Together with Zhang Guangnian, Xia Yan, Chen Huangmei and others, he held the literary and artistic discourse power in the literary world at that time.

Zhou Yang was the chairman of the Federation of Literary and Art Circles at the time. He was nicknamed the "Cultural Czar." It is said that he was full of guilt later and had to apologize at meetings big and small.

The most well-known event was the Fourth National Congress of Literature and Art, where he sincerely apologized to all the representatives.

The point is not "apology" but "whole audience".

The cafeteria lunch consists of four dishes and one soup, two meat dishes and two vegetable dishes.

Jiang Xian ordered a portion of braised pork elbow.

This dish needs to be prepared in two steps. The chef first adds a spoonful of green vegetarian cabbage, and then pours a spoonful of pork elbow meat.

It tastes fat and lean, fragrant and delicious.

On a bitterly cold winter day, it is very comforting to satisfy your appetite.

Jiang Xian returned to his room and even took a nap.

I heard that people from Shanxi love to take naps.

In fact, there are two Shanxi in China, and the other one is in the capital.

There are at least dozens of places in the capital that have the same name as Shanxi.

During the Ming Dynasty, Emperor Yongle moved the capital to Beijing. In the following 223 years, Shanxi had hundreds of immigrants move to Beijing, contributing more than half of the population of the capital at that time.

It can be said that among 10 people in Beijing now, at least one has Shanxi ancestry.

Jiang Xian was worried about something and didn't sleep very deeply.

He rolled over, got up, washed his face, sat at the table, and prepared materials for the symposium.

Half a day passed and I still had no idea where to start.

He simply stretched, stood up, knocked on the door of room 305, and asked Zhang Jie for advice.

"Teacher Zhang, how is your speech going?"

Zhang Jie was holding a spoon and scooping malted milk to make tea.

Malted milk is an instant beverage and one of the main nutritional supplements at that time. It has a strong milky aroma and is considered a "luxury" for the upper class.

"Xiao Jiang? I'm researching it."

Zhang Jie enthusiastically made him a cup of malted milk.

Jiang Xian was already accustomed to being taken care of by this elder sister, so he didn't say much. He picked up the cup of drink, whose name he had only heard of, and tasted it.

Wheat flavor, milk flavor and sweetness.

The taste is better than most milk teas in later generations.

"It tastes pretty good. What brand is this, Teacher Zhang?"

"Shanghai brand."

These days, it seems that everything is made in Shanghai, whether it is daily necessities or bicycles, Phoenix and Forever are all made in Shanghai. There is also a popular saying: "Whether you know the goods or not, buy all the goods from Shanghai."

"I'll buy a can later."

"No need~ I can't finish this big can. If you want to drink, just come to my place."

"That's so inappropriate." Jiang Xian was as shy as a child, "I always eat and drink with you."

"It's okay~ Just treat me as your sister."

After Jiang Xian finished drinking, Zhang Jie made him another cup. "Xiao Jiang, why are you still stressed? I don't think there's much problem with your "Chess King". The novels that Li Tuo and I have had the most controversy over are the ones that we have solved. If ours is solved, yours will also be solved."

The person involved is confused, but the bystander is clear. Jiang Xian thought about it and realized that this was indeed the truth.

"Li Tuo is the most dangerous!"

Apart from the nature of "scars", Li Tuo's novel is really mediocre.

He was extremely dissatisfied with it, so he put down his pen and started learning to write again.

In fact, many writers of this era do not understand how new era literature should be created?
This is an era when the moon is rounder in foreign countries.

The impact of the Western world has caused the Chinese people to extremely lack cultural confidence and cultural identity.

Writers who are "spiritually poor" have been imitating and learning the style and writing methods of foreign writers, and writing with foreign literature as a reference. Canxue is the culmination of this.

"Teacher Zhang, I might as well write it here. If I don't understand something, I can ask you for help."

"Sure." Zhang Jie agreed readily, "Of course."

Jiang Xian picked up a chair and sat down opposite Zhang Jie's desk.

He first summarized the story outline of "The Chess King".

This outline is for Zhou Yang, Feng Mu and all the leaders to read, and they are also asked to express their opinions.

After being reminded by Zhang Jie, Jiang Xian's mind became much sharper than before.

He tried his best to avoid passionate words, and separated speculation and discussion from "scar literature", turning it into an angle of exploring the soil of national traditional culture, interpreting it from cultural levels such as the way of chess and the way of life.

The lengthy outline was completed in one stroke.

Looking up, Jiang Xian saw that Zhang Jie was still holding her head and having a headache. He did not intend to add unnecessary pressure to her like the first student who opened the paper during the exam.

I opened a blank piece of grid paper and started thinking about the revisions to "Animals Are Dangerous".

The story of "Animals Are Dangerous" takes place in the Buzz Era, and the protagonist is in the depressed adolescence.

[Students in that era were unprecedentedly liberated and did not have to learn useless knowledge that was destined to be forgotten later.

There is no need to fight for anything, I just need to wait, and when I turn eighteen, it will be my turn.]
The protagonist "I" is born with the ability to pick locks. I often take advantage of the time when no one is at home to casually wander around other people's homes, but I don't steal anything.

Until one day I went to a girl's (Milan) boudoir and was deeply attracted by her.
Jiang Xian set the tone for the opening.

The middle-aged "I" encounters "her" by chance at the station, and is changed to the educated youth "I" who "retired due to illness" and returned to the city encounters "her" by chance at the station.

Recalling the sunny youth with the mature tone of someone who has experienced life in the countryside.

And how the young and ferocious "me" like an animal ended it all with my own hands.

The tip of the pen rustled.

The imaginary words in my mind quickly took shape on paper.

"Teacher Jiang, why are you here?" A staff member of the guesthouse suddenly came to the door, "There's a phone call for you downstairs."

"Telephone?"

Jiang Xian paused with his pen.

Telephones are a rare commodity these days. Not even a single family has one. Only large companies have them.

“Who’s going to call me?”

Jiang Xian stood up in surprise and planned to go downstairs to find out what was going on.

Zhang Jie raised her head and glimpsed the densely written manuscript on Jiang Xian's paper. "Xiao Jiang, let me take a look at the outline you wrote."

"No problem, Teacher Zhang." Jiang Xian, who was confused, agreed without even turning his head.

The door closed again.

Zhang Jie took the manuscript paper from across the table.

The room was silent, and the stream of light from the window poured down in front of her.

The words, written with such force that they penetrated three-quarters of the paper, sparkled brightly under the warm winter sun.

(End of this chapter)