1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 636 The Nobel Prize was leaked.
After filming location scenes for "Black Sun" in Northeast China, Mou Dunfei prepared to return to Hong Kong for post-production.

Passing through the capital, I visited Jiang Xian again and had a meal with him.

What are your plans after filming "Men Behind the Sun"?

"Finished filming?"

Mu Dunfei thought for a moment, "I'll take a break after filming. I've been too tired these past few months, I haven't had a full night's sleep."

He was telling the truth. Mu Dunfei is undoubtedly a workaholic. Once he gets into a movie, he works tirelessly, without sleep.

Of course, the other staff members also worked tirelessly, because they were too scared and couldn't sleep thinking about the scenes during filming.

In Jiang Xian's opinion, it's fortunate that Mu Dunfei made movies; otherwise, he would have done absolutely no good for society.

"I'll be going to Hong Kong again soon. See you there," Jiang Xian said to Mu Dunfei.

The room was crowded with people. Shen Congwen painfully opened his eyes from the bed and saw Zhang Zhaohe sitting by the bedside.

That silhouette made him feel as if he had been transported back to many years ago.

"San San," he called her by her nickname softly, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

Zhang Zhaohe's hand trembled, and he leaned closer:

"I'm here."

The others in the room also chose to remain silent, leaving this moment to the elderly couple.

"I dreamed of Kunming again."

Shen Congwen stared at the ceiling, as if talking to the air, “The ginkgo tree on Wenlin Street has turned yellow and fallen all over the ground.”

A hint of nostalgia also flashed in Zhang Zhaohe's eyes:
"You always like to sketch under the trees, and you can sit there for an entire afternoon."

"Back then you always said I was sloppy."

Shen Congwen's lips curled up slightly. "His shirt collar is always wrinkled."

"Because you forget to change it when you start writing."

Zhang Zhaohe's usually cold voice was now tinged with laughter, and his eyes even moistened as he spoke, "I have to urge him several times every time."

Shen Congwen slowly turned his head, his gaze finally focusing on her face:
"San San, do you still remember the first time I went to your house to propose marriage?"

“I remember.” Zhang Zhaohe was unusually gentle as she took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the thin layer of sweat from his forehead. “My dad wasn’t home, and you were so nervous that you spilled a cup of tea, leaving your brand-new long gown covered in water stains.”

"I'm afraid your father will ask me how I'll support the family in the future."

Shen Congwen's breathing became a little rapid. He paused for a moment before continuing, "I thought of many answers, such as that I could teach or write, but actually I was very afraid and had no confidence."

Zhang Zhaohe leaned closer and said softly, "Alright, Second Brother, stop talking. You should rest a bit more."

Shen Congwen's eyes grew increasingly clouded, and he mumbled incoherently, "When we were in Qingdao, you always accompanied me for walks on the beach. I remember you wearing a light blue cheongsam, the sea breeze blowing through your hair."

"Yes, that's when you were conceiving 'Border Town'."

Zhang Zhaohe's eyes welled up with tears. "Second brother, stop talking. Rest a little longer. Don't say anything more."

"Three three."

Shen Congwen suddenly became emotional, his fingers gripping Zhang Zhaohe's hand slightly tighter, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Stop talking." Zhang Zhaohe shook her head, tears finally falling and dripping onto Shen Congwen's hand.

She could tell that Shen Congwen was waiting for an answer, but she didn't say it aloud. She waited until Shen Congwen's gaze gradually unfocused and his voice grew softer and softer:

"San San, I think I can see the Tuo River. The water is so clear, San San. Shall we go home?"

"Okay, let's go home."

Zhang Zhaohe wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes, "Go back to Fenghuang, live in a stilted house, and watch the ferry."

"San San, I'm so sorry."

Shen Congwen's voice grew softer and softer, encapsulating half a lifetime of love, hate, and grudges in those words. Then, his eyes slowly closed, his breathing gradually calmed, and he finally blended into the deep night outside the window.

On May 10, 1988, the year after Ding Ling's death, Shen Congwen died at home from a sudden heart attack at the age of 86.

"Sister Lin."

Jiang Xian met with Li Xiaolin, who had come to the capital.

Li Xiaolin had come to Beijing on business, but upon hearing the news of Shen Congwen's death, he presented a flower basket on behalf of Ba Jin.

Ba Jin and Shen Congwen had a very deep friendship and were friends for many years.

The two first met in 1932. At that time, Ba Jin was staying at his uncle's house on Huanlong Road. Wang Manduo, the editor-in-chief of the Nanjing "Creative Monthly", came to Shanghai to solicit manuscripts. He invited Ba Jin to lunch at a Russian restaurant. In addition to Ba Jin, there was another guest, Shen Congwen, who came from Qingdao.

Although it was our first meeting, we had both long admired each other.

Shen Congwen is already well-known in the literary world because of his prolific writings.

Ba Jin, who was two years younger than him, was also somewhat famous for publishing works such as "Destruction" and "Revenge" as well as numerous translations.

Like Shen Congwen, he also experienced the hardships of wandering in France. Before meeting Shen Congwen, Ba Jin had read his novels and heard Hu Yuzhi praise his articles in France. Although they were complete strangers, they hit it off immediately.

After the meal, Shen Congwen invited Ba Jin to sit at his residence for a while.

That was the Yipinxiang Hotel on XZ Road in Shanghai.

Shen Congwen and Ba Jin had a very pleasant conversation. Shen Congwen even mentioned that he had a manuscript of a collection of short stories that he wanted to publish to earn some royalties so he could buy gifts to visit Zhang Zhaohe.

When Ba Jin learned of this, he thought about it and asked Shen Congwen to go with him to a publishing house.

Then Shen Congwen followed Ba Jin to the New China Bookstore in Zhabei, where he met the publisher that Ba Jin knew. The manuscript was sold, and the bookstore immediately paid the royalties. The novel was printed in just four or five months, and that was "Tiger Cub".

With money in hand, Shen Congwen felt more confident and immediately consulted Ba Jin for advice on what gift would be appropriate to give to Zhang Zhaohe.

One of them dared to ask, and the other dared to speak.

Ba Jin said, "I think it would be appropriate to buy a few sets of foreign language books as a gift when we first meet. Do you think that's suitable?"

After finishing his sentence, Ba Jin recommended several Russian classics to him.

When the two parted ways, Shen Congwen invited Ba Jin to visit Qingdao and see the sea. Ba Jin agreed because he planned to leave Shanghai soon and head north, so he could take the opportunity to stop by Qingdao to relax.

The promise was quickly fulfilled.

The next part of the story is that Shen Congwen went to Suzhou and stayed at No. 3 Jiuru Lane. He didn't see Zhang Zhaohe immediately; it was his second sister, Zhang Yunhe, who received him. She told him that Zhang Zhaohe had gone to the library, so Shen Congwen left the gifts and returned to his hotel. Zhang Yunhe said that Shen Congwen seemed at a loss at the time. He sat for a long time and stammered out three words: "I'll go."

These words seemed to be spoken to Zhang Yunhe, yet also to himself. He stammered out the address of the hotel where he was staying, turned around, lowered his head, and walked along the wall on the sunlit street, his shadow moving across the wall.

When Zhang Zhaohe returned and saw the gift, she told her second sister that she should take a new look at this "toad" number thirteen. Because when she was at China Public School, Zhang Zhaohe had many suitors. At first, she only regarded her teacher Shen Congwen as one of them and jokingly numbered him.

Shortly after, Zhang Zhaohe knocked on the hotel room door.

During this conversation, Shen Congwen and she gradually grew closer.

So Shen Congwen followed Zhang Zhaohe to the Zhang family and formally proposed marriage.

Unfortunately, Zhang's father was not home, but Shen Congwen met most of Zhang's siblings and learned that they had also read his works. His eldest brother, Zhang Zonghe, had long been a fan of Shen Congwen, and his fifth brother, Zhang Huanhe, even invited his future brother-in-law to read his articles.

Having achieved an initial victory, Shen Congwen returned to Qingdao. However, still worried about Zhang's father's opinion, he wrote a letter to his second sister, Zhang Yunhe:
"If Dad agrees, let me know sooner so this country bumpkin can have a sweet drink."

Surprisingly, Zhang's father was open-minded and did not interfere with his children's relationship. Seeing that his children all praised Shen Congwen's excellence, he fully supported his daughter's decision.

Thus, that classic telegram came about.

Zhang Zhaohe and her third sister Zhang Yunhe arrived at the post office. First, Zhang Yunhe sent out the word "Yun," which had a double meaning, indicating that Zhang's father had agreed and also representing the sender of the telegram.

Just as he was feeling smug, Zhang Zhaohua, who was standing next to him, changed it to "A country bumpkin comes to have a sweet drink."

In Qingdao, Shen Congwen found love and a precious friendship. Ba Jin arrived in Qingdao and came to No. 3 Fushan Road, also known as "Xinzhai Ermei Xiaozhai". He lived with Shen Congwen for a long time without any shame. The two talked about everything and were very close.

How deep is their friendship?

At that time, Ba Jin's wife, Xiao Shan, was studying at Southwest Associated University. Ba Jin often went to Kunming to visit her, and naturally, he also met Shen Congwen, who was teaching there.

Shen Congwen and Ba Jin said, "Let's go to Dianchi Lake to see the scenery." However, they were attacked by enemy planes. Shen Congwen shouted, "Get down! Get down!" and then covered Ba Jin and the child with his body.
“My father doesn’t understand why the name of this kind-hearted writer who loves the people is almost nowhere to be found in major newspapers. Even overseas Chinese-language newspapers have published many articles of condolence, lamenting the huge loss to the Chinese literary world,” Li Xiaolin said.

"Oh, that's not how it is."

Jiang Xian shook his head. "Mr. Ba may not know the situation in Beijing while he's in Shanghai. How could his name be completely forgotten by the literary world? It's just that the editors don't know what format to use to publish the news."

"So that's how it is." After listening to Jiang Xian's words, Li Xiaolin realized what he meant. It wasn't that she hadn't thought of it, but she wasn't sure before, and there were all sorts of rumors circulating outside.

Some say, "Perhaps its place in literary history has not been determined, and a suitable title or rank cannot be found."

Some people say, "We need to revitalize the economy now. Who cares about the life or death of a writer? Can your pen really boost production?!"

"Ultimately, it's because Mr. [Name]'s literary status cannot be definitively established," Li Xiaolin concluded.

"That's for sure."

Jiang Xian said, "I have a very important message here. If it can be reported, I believe we can quickly turn the tide."

"Ok?"

Li Xiaolin looked at Jiang Xian with a puzzled expression.

“I have an American friend who works for a betting company, which is what we usually call a casino.”

Jiang Xian said with a serious expression, "According to him, he received a message that the Nobel Prize committee for Literature this year is preparing to award the Nobel Prize in Literature to Shen Congwen."

"The Nobel Prize in Literature?!"

Li Xiaolin picked at his ear, looking at Jiang Xian with disbelief, "Is this news true?"

“That’s true,” Jiang Xian said.

This news was confirmed by Espmark himself many years later, when he served as chairman of the Nobel Prize Committee from 1987 to 2004.

In other words, this news is true.

Jiang Xian knew this in advance because he had traveled through time, and it had nothing to do with any gambling company.

As for why the news was leaked in advance, Jiang Xian wasn't afraid that the Nobel Prize committee would be confused.

Aren't all Nobel Prizes followed by scandals?
Every year before the Nobel Prize in Literature is announced, major betting companies create an odds list to attract people from all over the world to gamble and make a lot of money.

Japanese writer Haruki Murakami and Czech writer Milan Kundera are often jokingly referred to as "perennial runners-up" because they are frequently on the list.

Later, it was revealed that Arnault, a prominent figure in the literary world, had repeatedly leaked the list of Nobel Prize winners to gambling companies in advance, and that he obtained this information from his wife, Katharina Frostenson.

Katarina is one of the 18 permanent members of the Swedish Academy. She participates in the selection process for the Nobel Prize in Literature from beginning to end, so she is very familiar with the selection process and the final results.

So if the Nobel Prize itself isn't clean, then we shouldn't care how Jiang Xian got the information in advance.

According to Espmark, in the 1930s, the committee believed that, in accordance with Nobel's will, awarding the prize to more accessible and simpler literature would benefit humanity, so the Nobel Prize at that time was a popular literature award.

They later discovered that this award was of little use to world literature, because those whose works were bestsellers were already world-renowned writers.

Therefore, after World War II, the Nobel Committee began to look for pioneering and avant-garde writers, believing that this was a contribution to humanity, but in reality, these writers were already world-renowned.

A shift in the understanding of world literature that had an impact occurred in 1978 when a committee discussed whether to help elevate the status of some very talented but little-known writers.

Therefore, the Nobel Prize in Literature has since been dedicated to introducing those little-known master writers to the world.

That's why I took a liking to the Chinese writer Shen Congwen.

"I will find a way to get this reported."

Li Xiaolin said, "Don't worry, I won't mention you."

"It doesn't really matter; the Nobel Prize has no say in my affairs," Jiang Xian said.

"J."

Li Xiaolin shook his head firmly, "I still have to protect you. Among the younger generation of writers, you are the one with the best chance of winning the Nobel Prize in Literature."

Jiang Xian was flattered by these words. "Sister Lin, you're praising me too much."

"It's not that I'm praising you too much; whether you're praised or not depends on your own abilities."

Li Xiaolin changed the subject, "Ahem, any new manuscripts lately? Even if you're now with People's Literature, you can't always favor one publication over another. You should also share some manuscripts with us smaller publications."

"."

Jiang Xian was helpless as he watched Li Xiaolin's occupational disease relapse.

What does it mean to favor one over the other?
And you call Harvest a small publication?
"I do have a copy of the manuscript here."

(End of this chapter)