My era, 1979!

Chapter 140 A New Identity (Please read on, please vote!)
The next day, at the Fairy Boat Pavilion.

After more than a month of classes, the freshmen in the Chinese Department of Fudan University are eagerly anticipating lectures from renowned professors.

A very important teacher is here today!

Professor Zhu Dongrun will present on "The Connection Between Contemporary Literature and Opinion Literature"!
This is Zhu Dongrun!

The last remaining leading figure in the field of Chinese literature at Fudan University!

Before the morning mist had completely dissipated, the sycamore leaves in front of the Fairy Boat Pavilion were being crunched underfoot by the students' footsteps.

Lin Wei, a sophomore majoring in Chinese literature, carried a copy of "Selected Works of Chinese Literature Through the Ages" and ran to the lecture hall half an hour early.

Today is Professor Zhu Dongrun's open class, the topic of which is "The Connection between Contemporary Literature and Opinion Literature". Not to mention the Chinese Department, even students from the History and Foreign Languages ​​Departments have been keeping an eye on the class schedule, afraid of not being able to get a seat.

As soon as the door to the lecture hall was pushed open a crack, steam carrying the scent of ink rushed out.

The front row seats were already full, with enamel mugs and notebooks on the corners of the tables. Someone even brought Zhu Dongrun's early publication, "A Study of Sima Qian," with pages covered in dense annotations.

Lin Wei finally managed to squeeze into a spot in the middle, and Chen Yang immediately crowded around her, holding a mimeographed class schedule in his hand, his tone full of excitement: "Mr. Zhu is finally lecturing again! He can talk about Tang and Song literature from Du Fu's 'Three Officials and Three Separations' to contemporary scar literature. Last time he analyzed the 'metaphor and allegory' in the Book of Songs, even Mr. Wang Shuizhao was sitting below taking notes!"

As soon as he finished speaking, a group of people rushed into the back door of the classroom. The leader was Lü Shu, a third-year history student, who was holding a copy of "History of the Song Dynasty" and "Collected Essays on Classical Literature by Zhu Dongrun" which he had just borrowed from the library: "Our department teacher specifically said that Mr. Zhu's research on 'viewpoint literature' can help us understand the author's position in historical texts. Missing today's class is equivalent to missing half a semester's worth of methodology!"

Xu Qian from the Department of Foreign Languages ​​also squeezed into the crowd: "I want to hear what Mr. Zhu thinks about the differences between Western 'interventional literature' and our viewpoint literature. When I translated Neruda's poems before, I always felt that they lacked a sense of connection with the times."

The discussion in the classroom grew louder and louder. Someone pulled out "Selected Works of Chinese Literature Through the Ages" edited by Zhu Dongrun and pointed to the editorial philosophy on the title page, "Combining literature and history, using history to prove literature," and discussed it in hushed tones.

Someone mentioned an interesting story about Mr. Zhu teaching graduate students last year.

In order to verify a variant reading in Su Shi's postscript, I made three special trips to the Beijing Library and filled three notebooks with collation notes.

Others mentioned Xu Chengjun's paper on Song Dynasty literature, saying that Mr. Zhu praised him at the seminar for being "original and capable of carrying on the tradition."

These words made many new students even more expectant!

To be recognized by such a master speaks volumes about Xu Chengjun's talent, and today, he finally gets to witness the master's lecture firsthand.

How exciting!
At this point, Lin Yimin and the other four sat together, and Hu Zhi asked timidly, "Why don't I see Cheng Jun?"

"Maybe he ate too much and got diarrhea? I haven't seen him all morning!"

Zhou Haibo made a sarcastic remark without turning his head, then turned and started chatting with the foreign language major girl at the table behind him.

"Actually, Xu Chengjun was Mr. Zhu's student!"

"Huh? Isn't he a freshman?"

"Hey! I'm his roommate, don't you know? He's just auditing classes! He's a first-year graduate student now!"

"No wonder he could write a work of the caliber of 'Red Silk'! Last time Professor Zhu mentioned in his lecture that 'Red Silk' pioneered modern Chinese literature!"

"What do you think? What's that student's major?"

"Stop arguing! Mr. Zhu is coming!"

Zhou Haibo pursed his lips.

Zhu Dongrun is a well-known figure in Chinese literature departments at Fudan University and even across the country.

He studied at the University of London in his early years and after returning to China, he devoted himself to classical literature, from Sima Qian to Du Fu, from the Eight Great Masters of the Tang and Song Dynasties to the essays of the Ming and Qing Dynasties. His research spanned a thousand years, but he never made empty promises.

During the War of Resistance against Japan, he traveled to the southwest with ancient books, proofreading "Wenxin Diaolong" by oil lamp. After the manuscript was destroyed by the Japanese army, he collected materials again and finally published "Wenxin Diaolong: Annotated Edition" in 1946.

When compiling "Selected Works of Chinese Literature Through the Ages" in the 1950s, he wrote letters to colleagues at more than a dozen universities across the country to verify a single variant character. This rigor earned him the respect of many scholars.

What's even more remarkable is that he didn't stick to tradition. After the college entrance examination was reinstated in 1978, he was the first to propose that "classical literature should be modernized." He also accepted Xu Chengjun, a graduate student who had skipped a grade, saying, "Scholarship cannot be based on seniority; those with talent should be given opportunities."

A living master!

The freshmen in the Chinese department eagerly awaited their arrival.

"I'm coming!"

Someone shouted, and the classroom instantly fell silent.

All eyes turned to the doorway, where Mr. Zhu Dongrun stood, leaning on an old cane, wearing a faded Zhongshan suit, his silver hair neatly combed, and his eyes behind his glasses shining with a gentle yet sharp light.

He was followed by two senior professors from the Chinese department, carrying thick lecture notes. As soon as he entered the classroom, the whole room burst into enthusiastic applause.

Even the students sitting in the back row who were auditing the class stood on tiptoe, trying to get a better view.

The gentleman smiled and waved.

Everyone was looking forward to him stepping onto the podium.

result--

Zhu Dongrun slowly walked to the first row, but instead of going to the podium, he sat down by the window and nodded to Chen Shangjun next to him.

Everyone knows that Chen Shangjun was his prized student, who studied at Fudan University for two years before skipping a grade. This morning, he came specifically to accompany his teacher to class.

what's the situation!
Is there another big shot going to give the opening remarks?
This action caused a murmur in the classroom. Lin Wei frowned and whispered to Chen Yang, "Why is Mr. Zhu sitting in the front row? Are there other teachers starting the class today?"

Chen Yang shook his head, his pen hovering over the notebook, his eyes full of doubt.

Just then, footsteps came from the back door of the classroom.

Xu Chengjun, wearing a brand-new Dacron shirt, holding a stack of lecture notes, and with a slight smile on his lips, slowly walked onto the podium.

The shirt was bought for him by Su Manshu.

A new identity should bring a new look.

As soon as he stood still, someone in the audience exclaimed in a low voice – How come it's Xu Chengjun?

Was Mr. Zhu feeling unwell and asked to take his place?

Lin Yimin was dumbfounded. I was listening to your teacher give a lecture.

So you're going to become my teacher?

Are you even qualified? You little bastard!

Um.
That seems enough.
Xu Chengjun placed the lecture notes on the podium, and before speaking, he picked up the chalk and wrote a line on the blackboard: "Zhu Dongrun and his teaching assistant - The connection between contemporary literature and opinion literature".

After finishing writing, he turned around, smiled at the audience, and said with a touch of humor, "It seems that you didn't look at the schedule carefully this morning. It clearly says 'Zhu Dongrun and his teaching assistant.' I am the teaching assistant, Xu Chengjun."

These words immediately caused an uproar in the audience.

Lin Wei quickly pulled out her mimeographed class schedule and squinted at it—and sure enough!
The words "Lecturer: Zhu Dongrun, Teaching Assistant: Xu Chengjun" were clearly printed in the corner. Before, everyone was so focused on seeing the three words "Zhu Dongrun" that they didn't pay any attention to the teaching assistant information behind them.

So you're playing this game?
Even 21st-century merchants aren't as ruthless as you, Xu Chengjun!
Zhou Haibo, sitting in the back row, slapped his thigh and exclaimed, "Damn! Cheng Jun, you've been hiding this well! If I'd known you were the one giving the presentation, I would have..."

"Does this student want to come up and speak?"

Everyone's eyes turned to Zhou Haibo.

The guy's face turned bright red. Xu Chengjun smiled and said, "Little brat, I can't handle you."
He smiled and waved his hand with a calm demeanor, pointing to Zhu Dongrun in the first row: "Everyone, don't panic. Mr. Zhu is here today, sitting here listening. If I say anything wrong, he will definitely correct me at any time."

Actually, the professor was originally going to give the lecture himself, but he got tired a few days ago from organizing commentaries on "The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons," and the university hospital told him to rest more. He was also worried about disrupting everyone's classes, so he discussed it with the department and asked me to give the lecture in his place while he oversaw the quality. To put it bluntly, I was just a 'megaphone,' the real master was there!

Following the direction he pointed, everyone looked at Zhu Dongrun.

The old gentleman was writing something in his notebook. When he heard Xu Chengjun's words, he looked up, smiled, and nodded to the audience, as if to confirm the situation.

The murmurs from the audience gradually turned into laughter, and the previous tension and doubts vanished, replaced by anticipation.

The previous doubts!
That's not Xu Chengjun, you were just 20 years old and you were pretending to be a master, right?
But who is Xu Chengjun?
A nationally renowned writer and poet!
Xu Chengjun's "The Granary" and "Red Silk" are so well-written, he must have a unique understanding of literature. With Mr. Zhu "supervising" him, this class might be even more exciting than expected.

The students in the room began to actively engage in self-psychological manipulation.

But in reality, Zhu Dongrun just wanted to give his students a chance to showcase their talents, and he planned to have Xu Chengjun teach many of his classes in the future.

If I can perform well this time...

Zhang Peiheng was originally against this, but Old Zhu insisted on going his own way and ended up skipping work.

Teaching Assistant Xu!
Let's begin!
Once everyone quieted down, Xu Chengjun, without even taking out his lecture notes, randomly pointed to a girl in the front row: "Excuse me, what's your name? Which department are you in?"

The girl had some freckles on her face and wore her hair in a ponytail. She seemed a little dazed when she was called on.

But she still stood up and introduced herself: "Wu Yuefen, a sophomore in the Chinese Literature Department."

Xu Chengjun smiled and asked, "What descriptions in classical literature touch you the most?"

Wu Yuefen was silent for a moment, then hesitantly answered, "Love?"

The audience burst into laughter.

The little girl blushed deeply.

Xu Chengjun, however, did not take it seriously. He gestured for the girl to sit down, then turned around and wrote on the blackboard, "Life is full of divergent paths, you go to Hunan and I go to Qin."

"This is a seven-character quatrain by Zheng Gu, a poet of the Tang Dynasty. It was originally written to bid farewell to a friend, but a lover is also a friend! When many students do not understand its meaning, they feel that the love story in this poem is full of regret and melancholy. In just fourteen characters, we are immersed in it and cannot extricate ourselves. This is the charm of classical literature."

The students stared intently at Xu Chengjun.

Xu Chengjun's steady demeanor and composure were seen by Zhu Dongrun as signs of a great general.

"But can't contemporary literature write such sentences? I think it's really impossible. It's difficult for us to condense love, friendship, regret, and melancholy into such a minute space as we can in classical Chinese."

He paused for a moment: "But that doesn't mean we can't write the same content."

These words hooked the curiosity of all the students in the room.

Xu Chengjun didn't take it seriously. He turned around and wrote the following words on the blackboard in beautiful cursive script: "It's hard for a person to understand love in their ignorant youth, and it's hard to be sure that it's deep love when they're deeply in love. Therefore, the chapters of love are often filled with melancholy."

Sometimes, the timing of a meeting is truly crucial. Many relationships, if started with a different mindset, might take a completely different turn. Love at the wrong time, understanding without love—all the experiences become regrets.

The students in the front row watched as Xu Chengjun wrote out each word, as if they were drawn into the emotions he was experiencing.

Girls with exceptionally strong emotional function (Fe) may even have tears in their eyes, thinking about their own or recalling past romantic regrets.

That's a beautiful sentence!

Who wrote it?

Xu Chengjun said without hesitation, "This is a sentence from my new work that I'm currently writing. What do you all think of this sentence?"

So it's Xu Chengjun's new work!

This is such a great advertisement!
But it really felt so good; the girl in front of me practically had stars in her eyes.

The audience unanimously answered, "Yes!"

"nice!"

"I feel very regretful."

Young people always resonate with themes of youth, love, and regret.

Look, they've almost made all the young men and women in the audience swoon.

Why write this sentence?
Teacher Xu did it on purpose!

After Xu Chengjun finished writing the passage about love, the tip of his chalk paused on the blackboard for a moment, waiting for the sighs and gasps from the audience to gradually subside.

He smiled.

"I don't like it; it has no soul!"

He suddenly turned around, his smile fading and his tone becoming more serious: "What I just wrote wasn't meant to tell everyone how moving my writing is."

Rather, I'm saying that contemporary literature doesn't lack emotion, but rather 'modernity.' We can write about melancholy, but we can't achieve the penetrating power of classical literature, which is 'ten times more impactful than one,' let alone the scope of world literature, which is 'rooted in the local context yet engages with the global audience.'

These words were like a stone thrown into calm water, and the audience fell silent instantly.

Lin Wei paused, her hand holding the pen still lingering on the emotion she had felt from the description of love. This sudden "criticism" pulled her back to reality.

Zhou Haibo in the back row stopped making a fuss and frowned as he pondered the word "modernity".

He had seen the term in Foreign Literature Trends, but had never associated it with contemporary Chinese literature.

Despite his usual boisterous behavior, he has the highest literary knowledge among the five people in the dormitory.

In his words, "Men have seen the world!"
Before everyone could process what was happening, Xu Chengjun continued, "Let's start with our classical literature. Why were the Eight Great Masters of the Tang and Song Dynasties able to stand the test of time?"

Han Yu's idea that "literature should convey the Way" was not just empty talk; he fused the "free-flowing" style of Qin and Han prose with the "elegance" style of Wei and Jin parallel prose into a new literary form, breaking away from the ornate style of the Six Dynasties and establishing the spirit of the Tang and Song Dynasties.
Not to mention Ming and Qing dynasty novels, such as "Dream of the Red Chamber" which turned family trivialities into an epic of the times, and "Jin Ping Mei" which used colloquial language to explore the depths of human nature, which one of them did not "uphold tradition while creating something new"?
But what about contemporary literature today?
We either treat tradition like an antique, writing 'metaphor and allegory' as just piling up allusions; or we treat tradition as a burden, rushing to the West whenever innovation is mentioned, forgetting how many treasures are hidden within the very fabric of our own language.

"Of course, there are still many excellent works, but that's far from enough. China's five thousand years of rich history should give birth to even more literary works!"

One more thing: I can't become an enemy of literature!

Big picture at the beginning!
The students below the stage either nodded, frowned, or hesitated to raise their hands.

This statement is truly shocking in this day and age.

Xu Chengjun ignored this and continued with his sensationalist writing style.

He raised his hand and drew a line on the blackboard, writing "classical" on the left and "contemporary" on the right.

"For example, in the 'metaphor and allegory' technique, the 'Guan Guan Jujiu' in the Book of Songs uses objects to evoke emotions, and Du Fu's 'Behind the red gates, wine and meat go to waste' is a satire of the world. But in our works, many images are just symbols, lacking a real connection with the characters and the times."

What about the many other works?

It's either a pile of scars or a stack of slogans, lacking the subtle harmony between self and object found in classical literature.

"Teacher Xu!"

A boy in blue overalls suddenly raised his hand. It was Lu Shu from the history department. "You say contemporary literature isn't modern, but isn't scar literature also very real? Liu Xinwu's 'The Class Teacher' and Lu Xinhua's 'The Scar' both depicted ten years of suffering, didn't they?"

Xu Chengjun smiled and nodded, gesturing for him to sit down: "Good question, classmate Lü."

Scar literature is based on reality, but reality is not synonymous with modernity. When Du Fu wrote "Three Officials and Three Separations," he was not only writing about "suffering," but also about the military service system and the hardships of the people behind that "suffering," demonstrating historical depth.

Much of the literature about the trauma of the past is merely an outlet for personal emotions, lacking reflection on the root causes of suffering or the transformation of the times.

It's like when we've finished crying but don't know why we cried; this isn't the penetrating power of literature, but rather the resonance of emotions.

True modern literature must be able to unearth something beyond reality that can illuminate the future.

These words stunned Lü Shu. He looked down and flipped through the records of Song Dynasty literati discussing politics in the History of Song, and remained silent.

Beyond authenticity, there must also be "thought".

Lu Xinhua was in the audience at that moment. He was a third-year Chinese literature major and had been enjoying the halo brought by "The Wounded".

In fact, in a sense, he has always been immersed in the role of a pioneer of "scar literature".

He became increasingly eager to try and wanted to raise his hand.

This is a struggle over the Dao!

But in the end, he gave up in despair.

It's nothing else. He's fine when facing other students, but he's really confident when facing Xu Chengjun. He only has one piece of writing, "The Wound."

And what about Xu Chengjun?
At the age of 20, he had published short, medium, and long works such as "The Fitting Mirror," "The Granary," and "Red Silk," which had a huge impact across the country.

He read the content and had to admit that it was more advanced and more relevant to the times.

After graduating from Fudan University, Lu Xinhua went to the United States for a time, and has not had any influential works since "The Wounded".

"The Wound" has been a part of my life.

Xu Qian, who was standing next to her, also seemed to be deep in thought. She recalled that when translating Neruda's poems, she always felt that something was missing: Neruda's "love" contained the suffering of the Latin American people, while the "love" in some of our works was just petty affection, lacking connection with the land.

Girl, you're going a bit astray!
Xu Chengjun then turned to world literature: "Let's look outside. Why did the Latin American literary boom shake the world?"

When Gabriel García Márquez wrote "One Hundred Years of Solitude," he used the local story of Macondo, but employed a modern narrative of "circular time."

Vargas Llosa wrote "The Green House," rooted in the everyday life of Peru, but using an innovative form of 'multi-narrative'.

They haven't lost their local roots, and they've also leveraged modern technology.

Looking at the West, Kafka's "The Metamorphosis" uses the absurdity of "man turning into beetle" to depict the alienation of modern people; Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway" uses "stream of consciousness" to depict the spiritual world of women.

Form and content are intertwined.

He then changed the subject, pointing to the audience: "But what about us? Literature still hasn't broken free from the old patterns."

They either use rudimentary methods, taking the narrative of "Dream of the Red Chamber" as a template, and fail to write anything new.

It's either a case of "trying to walk like someone from Handan" (a Chinese idiom meaning to imitate blindly and ineffectively), where someone tries to learn stream of consciousness but only manages to grasp the "fragments" without understanding the "soul."

Last year, there was a piece of work that tried to emulate Faulkner's 'multiple perspectives', but it broke the story into pieces, making it incomprehensible to readers.

This isn't innovation; it's an abuse of form. True modernity isn't about wearing a Western 'coat,' but about finding the most suitable 'clothes' for the Chinese story.

Jia Zhifang, who came with Zhu Dongrun, frowned, but finally nodded helplessly.

"Teacher Xu!"

This time, it was Wu Yuefen, a sophomore majoring in Chinese literature, who raised her hand. Her cheeks were still flushed from the previous moment.

"So how do you think we should bridge these gaps? Aren't your works 'Red Silk' and 'The Granary' already good attempts?"

Xu Chengjun walked to the edge of the podium, leaned down to look at her, and said in a gentle but firm tone: "Red Silk?"
Personal, personal work is far from enough.

If we must say, this is only the first step, far from enough. To close the gap, we need to take three steps:

First, it should be rooted in tradition, but not a retrospective. Second, it should be deeply grounded in reality, but not a mere record. Third, it should encourage innovation in form, but not innovation for its own sake. Form must serve content.

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room before finally settling on Zhu Dongrun in the first row: "Mr. Zhu often told me, 'To do scholarship, one must immerse oneself; to do literature, one must stand out.'"

To "sink down" means to delve into the roots of tradition and the soil of reality; to "stand up" means to establish one's own voice and uphold the spirit of the times. What we lack now is precisely this patience to "sink down" and the courage to "stand up."

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhu Dongrun suddenly clapped his hands softly.

The old man put down his pen, his voice soft but firm: "Chengjun's words hit the nail on the head."

He slowly stood up, his silvery-white hair gleaming softly in the morning light.

He didn't walk to the podium immediately, but instead took two slow steps along the first row of desks, his gaze sweeping over the young faces below the stage.

Once the room had completely fallen silent, the old gentleman spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying the weight of a thousand years: "Cheng Jun just said, 'To do scholarship, one must immerse oneself; to do literature, one must stand tall.' I agree with that, and I would like to say a few more words to each of you here."

He stopped and pointed to the dividing line between "classical" and "contemporary" on the blackboard, his tone full of sincerity: "When I was young, I studied in England and held Shakespeare's plays, but I always thought of the Records of the Grand Historian that I kept at home."

It's not that Western literature is bad, but that our Chinese cultural heritage is too profound and cannot be lost. Back then, I traveled to the southwest with the manuscript of "The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons". The Japanese army destroyed the collation notes, so I copied them again and searched for them again. It wasn't stubbornness, but I knew that these words contained the spirit of the Chinese people.

Han Yu's saying, "Only stale expressions must be discarded," teaches us not to blindly follow others; Su Shi's saying, "Let life take its course in a straw raincoat and misty rain," teaches us integrity; Cao Xueqin's writing of *Dream of the Red Chamber*, where "every word seems written in blood," teaches us to have reverence for language.

"Your generation is lucky to have been born in such a good time."

(End of this chapter)