1979: My fiancée is a goddess

Chapter 397 The Awards Ceremony is Here
March 24th, 5:40 AM.

The sky was just beginning to lighten, and the outline of the sun was already rising on the horizon.

The first rays of sunlight pierced through the thin clouds, dispelling the night along the central axis of Beijing.

"Buzzing—"

"Flap flap flap!"

The sound of pigeon whistles, which rings out precisely every morning, drifts gently from afar.

A sound of flapping wings swept across the courtyard.

"Today is the awards ceremony. How many of the five nominations will we win?"

Finally, Cheng Kaiyan opened her eyes, suppressing the urge to continue sleeping, even though she had been immersed in the creation of "Atonement" during this time.

Now that the day of the awards ceremony has arrived, he can't help but feel excited.

"Kaiyan! Are you up? Are you going to an awards ceremony today?"

Just then, Cheng Kaiyan's mother, Xu Yuxiu, also got up early because she was worried that Cheng Kaiyan would oversleep, and went to the door to knock and remind her.

"Woke up."

Cheng Kaiyan turned her head and replied, then slowly lifted the quilt, got up and dressed.

"Then I'll go cook first."

Xu Yuxiu stood quietly in front of the door, ultimately suppressing the urge to ask her son how confident he was about today's award ceremony.

But he's probably also looking forward to it, and also feeling worried about it, right?
After all, the lights were turned off later than usual last night.

As a mother, I naturally hope that my child will achieve greater success.

But what I desire most is a peaceful, healthy, and carefree life.

Xu Yuxiu smiled gently, turned around and went out to wash up and cook. She planned to boil five large eggs later.

Just like when Cheng Kaiyan was taking exams, Xu Yuxiu would always give him two fried eggs.

It implies getting a perfect score on the exam.

……

"Zizzizi!"

Steam rose from the hot pot bottom as Xu Yuxiu walked around it with the oil bottle in her hand.

The oil bubbled and sizzled.

Once the oil is hot, add the golden egg mixture, and soon the egg bubbles will rise and swell.

Fry five eggs and sprinkle with a little salt.

Xu Yuxiu lowered her head and smelled it; it smelled of oil and eggs.

"It smells so good, Mom! You fried so many eggs today?"

Cheng Kaiyan, who had just gotten up and finished washing up, came over after smelling the aroma.

He wasn't afraid of getting burned, so he walked over, grabbed one, and started eating. As he ate, he nodded and said, "Not too salty, not too bland, the taste is just right."

"Eat your food, all of this is for you."

Xu Yuxiu gave a gentle smile and gave the instructions.

"Just share it, it's not like it's anything special."

After finishing one dish, Cheng Kaiyan clapped her hands and helped serve the dishes and get the bowls and chopsticks.

"I don't feel like eating in the morning; it's dry and I have no appetite."

Xu Yuxiu didn't say much and went back to the table to eat.

seven in the morning.

Cheng Kaiyan rode her bicycle to take her mother to school, and then strolled leisurely along the street towards the People's Hall.

I walked and stopped along the way, sometimes looking at the shops on the street, sometimes at the little girls waiting for the bus by the roadside.

Before we knew it, we had arrived at the square in front of the Great Hall of the People.

The crowd attending the awards ceremony completely packed the once-empty square.

Under the warm sunshine, light and shadow were cast across the square.

"There are so many people, even more than last time."

Cheng Kaiyan pushed her bicycle down the street, looking at the people from all over the country with a sense of wonder.

There were uniformed staff maintaining order, some cultural department leaders giving instructions, and reporters with cameras taking photos of some seemingly famous writers.

People gathered in small circles and chatted enthusiastically.

A short while later, Cheng Kaiyan found the parking shed and discovered that it was indeed filled with bicycles.

Out of desperation, I wandered around again and noticed a row of cars lined up on the side of the main entrance of the People's Hall. On a whim, I parked my bicycle behind the cars.

Cars are usually guarded, so it's safe to park bicycles here.

Cheng Kaiyan parked the car and walked out unhurriedly, like a migratory bird that had separated from the main group finally merging into the vast crowd.

The awards ceremony hasn't officially started yet; everyone is catching up and chatting in the square.

Cheng Kaiyan glanced around; there were just too many people, and he didn't see anyone he recognized.

He casually asked a staff member if there was still half an hour left before the start, and then he started wandering around.

When they hear a topic that interests them, they stop to discuss it.

As she listened and chatted casually, Cheng Kaiyan found herself much calmer than she had been last year.

When he attended the ceremony last year, he deliberately kept a low profile and remained calm.

Although Cheng Kaiyan was looking forward to this time, she also had a confident and composed demeanor.

There are definitely literary awards, but I don't know how many.

……

"Teacher Zhan Rong's stream-of-consciousness work is well written. There is no deliberate display of narrative skills, and the story and emotions are as natural as if they were formed by nature. I feel that it is more fluent and natural than Teacher Wang Meng's stream-of-consciousness work."

Cheng Kaiyan listened for a while in a spot where three people were gathered, discussing stream of consciousness and techniques in Western literature.

The leader was a middle-aged male writer surnamed Hu from southern Hunan, who was nominated this time.

The other two were a young editor surnamed Li who had come along with the magazine to join in the fun.

One was a writer from Guangdong, short and dark-skinned, whose surname was Bai.

"Wang Meng's stream of consciousness is too profound; reading it is like solving a riddle."

Editor Li remarked with emotion.

"Yeah, stream of consciousness sounds too complicated. I'll stick to writing about trauma. But trauma literature is getting a bit outdated. Many magazines I've submitted to either refuse to accept it or have too high requirements."

The writer sighed. He knew he couldn't write stream of consciousness; he could only write "scar literature," focusing on emotional resonance and depicting the misery of that era to earn a meager living.

"It sounds complicated, but it's not. In general, it's just a technique of modernist literary narrative that serves the plot and the characters' emotions. There's no need to mythologize it so much."

Upon hearing this, Cheng Kaiyan shook her head and offered a casual explanation.

Scar literature was indeed very popular for a time, but it was quickly replaced. In a sense, scar literature amplified and consumed people's collective emotions about that era.

Once it's all used up, this type of literature will die.

Therefore, even literary writers need to have a keen eye for the market.

"Oh?"

Upon hearing this, the three realized that a young man dressed in a dark blue Zhongshan suit, exuding a scholarly air, had suddenly appeared beside them.

"Young comrade, are you also a writer attending the awards ceremony?"

The writer from Hunan was a middle-aged man in his forties with sharp eyes. He asked politely.

"That's it."

Cheng Kaiyan smiled.

"What do you mean 'consider'? You didn't sneak in here, did you...?"

The writer adjusted his red star hat and couldn't help but chuckle.

"That's not the point. Young comrade, you seem to have some insights into stream of consciousness?"

The writer from southern Hunan waved his hand and interjected, his gentle and kind tone softening the somewhat sharp tone of the younger writer.

Although he had seen many young people who liked to feign refinement and called themselves writers after writing a few things, he didn't feel any ill will towards them.

Everyone started out as a literature enthusiast.

"Just now, the three comrades mentioned the naturalness of Teacher Zhan Rong's style and the complexity and obscurity of Teacher Wang Meng's style."

We can understand it this way: Wang Meng's works are experimental in nature, with a strong Western influence. In the process of his stream of consciousness, he incorporates more philosophical thoughts that are difficult for ordinary people to understand.

Zhan Rong's "Middle Age" has a localized flavor of Western narrative techniques, and also has its own strengths.

This isn't about who's better or worse; it's a matter of personal style.

Cheng Kaiyan smiled and began to explain.

"I see... So, comrade, which type of study do you think is suitable?"

The writer from Hunan was clearly someone who wanted to improve himself. After listening to this analysis, he knew that the young man in front of him was well-read and not the kind of boastful literary youth he often encountered.

"It's Professor Zhanrong's. Professor Zhanrong has her own understanding of stream of consciousness. I personally call it pathological stream of consciousness."

Cheng Kaiyan thought for a moment and then answered.

"Pathological?"

The three of them exchanged a glance, all somewhat surprised.

"Pathological stream of consciousness? That's a perfect description!"

The young editor exclaimed in surprise and praised it.

"Could you explain in more detail, comrade?"

Even the writer Bai, who had just been somewhat dismissive of Cheng Kaiyan, became serious.

"Teacher Zhan Rong cleverly used the dreams, hallucinations, and memory fragments caused by coma after a myocardial infarction complicated by cerebral hypoxia."

These are all medical physiological phenomena that serve as the basis for the stream of consciousness narrative.

At the same time, the process of the flow of consciousness is visualized through medical devices.

For example: the scene moves from the female protagonist seeing the reflection of the surgical forceps to the frost flowers on the windows of the daycare center in winter, and then to the daughter's frozen, slightly red fingers...

Cheng Kaiyan nodded and continued her analysis.

While speaking, he glanced at Xiangnan, who seemed very eager to learn, but the skinny writer seemed to be living off his past achievements.

"So that's how it is... How wonderful! Relying on vision... no, to be precise, relying on the five senses to flow consciousness is just too wonderful."

"This is what writer Hu said in deep thought."

"That makes perfect sense when it comes to studying!"

At this moment, everyone looked thoughtful, clearly having already believed most of it.

"Don't be too superstitious about Western techniques. Just adapt them and focus on your own story."

Cheng Kaiyan added another sentence.

The group of people became acquainted through their shared interest in stream of consciousness and chatted for a while.

"Comrade Cheng, are you a writer from Beijing, or did you come with a publishing house?"

Editor Li asked curiously, "Besides editors, sometimes magazines that come to the awards ceremony also bring talented writers to broaden their horizons and expand their networks."

"I'm from the capital, and I came here by myself."

Cheng Kaiyan smiled and explained, "That's not wrong."

"Oh, it's local."

The three exchanged glances; they were the ones who had come to watch the spectacle.

"Well then, young comrade, why don't you come in with us in a bit? I'll show you around."

The writer from southern Hunan laughed heartily and extended a warm invitation.

"Let's see. I'll ask my friends. If I really can't find anyone, I'll come with you guys..."

Before Cheng Kaiyan could finish speaking, someone patted her on the shoulder from behind.

"I've been looking for you for ages! What are you doing hiding here? Afraid of being surrounded and watched by onlookers?"

A young woman's voice came through.

Cheng Kaiyan turned around and looked over with surprise: "Chen Shanshan?! You're here too! It's been so long!"

"Long time no see! Why can't I come?"

"Come on, come on, Editor-in-Chief Yang, Teacher Wang Meng, and Teacher Zhang Guangnian are together."

Chen Shanshan grinned. Although they had only met once, the guy in front of her had left a very deep impression on her.

We even played cards, watched a performance, and had a meal together last Chinese New Year.

We should be considered friends.

"This is?"

The writer Hu scratched his head; it seemed that Xiao Cheng no longer needed their help.

"My friend, I'll go in with them, see you inside in a bit."

Cheng Kaiyan gave a brief introduction, then waved goodbye to the three of them and turned to leave with Chen Shanshan.

"Are they going to see Teacher Wang Meng and Teacher Zhang Guangnian?"

The writer asked curiously, glancing at Cheng Kaiyan and the other person's backs with a hint of envy.

That's the editor-in-chief of People's Literature, and the nationally renowned writer, Mr. Wang Meng.

"He should go with them to meet some literary seniors, after all, Xiao Cheng is a very talented young man."

The writer, Hu, offered an explanation.

However, Editor Li lowered his head in thought, muttering to himself, "This woman seems to be an editor from Jiangcheng's *Fangcao* magazine. Our editor-in-chief had dinner with them the day before yesterday; I remember it."

"Oh right, what's her name again?"

Editor Li suddenly asked.

"Isn't that Chen Shanshan?"

Writer Hu explained.

"Chen Shanshan? I remember now, she's the editor of 'Fangcao' magazine, no wonder she knows Professor Wang Meng and the others."

Chen Shanshan is so lucky; she even discovered Cheng Kaiyan's first work of pure literature.

Editor Li said with a look of envy, "A classic work can benefit even an editor."

"Yes, speaking of which, Teacher Cheng Kaiyan has five works nominated this year, right? That's terrifying."

The writer Hu remarked that he was actually quite young and would really like to have a chat with this renowned literary talent.

"Wait... Cheng Kaiyan? Cheng?"

The writer suddenly muttered to himself with some doubt.

"what happened?"

The two asked curiously.

"It's nothing, I'm probably just overthinking it."

The writer shook his head. "Speaking of which, the young man from earlier should be related to Chen Shanshan or something, since they share the same surname."

the other side.

Cheng Kaiyan finally found the main group under Chen Shanshan's guidance.

In the middle of the square, a group of people gathered together.

At first glance, I thought something terrible had happened.

However, Cheng Kaiyan's excellent eyesight allowed her to quickly spot many familiar faces.

There was Aunt Tang Minghua from the Ministry of Culture, as well as Teacher Zhang Guangnian and Teacher Wang Meng from People's Literature, Chief Editor Yang Shuan from Fangcao, and Editor Xu Dexia from Children's Literature.

Of course, there are also old friends Wang Anyi and Ye Xin.

"You've finally arrived, kid! I've been waiting for you for ages!"

Zhang Guangnian turned his head and saw Cheng Kaiyan arriving late, and laughed loudly.

Upon hearing this, everyone turned to look, their faces showing smiles and interest.

There were too many people, so I just found a place to sit for a while.

Cheng Kaiyan glanced over and nodded in greeting.

"You've really made a name for yourself this time! Writers all over the country know about this young man named Cheng Kaiyan, who has five works shortlisted!"

How many works do you think won awards this time?

"Comrade Cheng Kaiyan, do you still remember me? Yang Shu'an, have you had any new works recently?"

……

Cheng Kaiyan answered some questions casually, and everyone could tell that he didn't like being surrounded and asked questions, so they didn't bother him anymore.

Before the awards ceremony began, Cheng Kaiyan got to know many literary figures, including Professor Zhan Rong, whom she had just talked about.

It was finally nine o'clock, and the awards ceremony was about to begin.

The crowd in the square entered the Great Hall of the People in an orderly fashion.

Cheng Kaiyan followed the crowd, striding forward with her head held high.

Looking at the national emblem atop the Great Hall of the People, his eyes were filled with confidence and sharpness.

He was ready to win the award.

"Three major literary awards are a sure thing."

not far away.

Tang Minghua stopped in the crowd to observe Cheng Kaiyan, a faint smile of appreciation blooming on her lips, and a hint of anticipation flashing in her eyes.

With five works nominated, how many awards will they ultimately win?
One? Two?

Or all?

(End of this chapter)