My era, 1979!

Chapter 141: Shortlisted for the National Excellent Short and Novella Selection (8K-word chapter, please vote!)
Zhu Dongrun, reflecting on the times, said, "The spring tide of reform is surging, the countryside is changing, the factories are changing, and people's hearts are changing. These are all good material for literature."

Cheng Jun is right. What contemporary literature lacks is not emotion, but 'modernity'—but this modernity is not a coat borrowed from the West, but a new sprout growing from our own soil.

He walked to the podium, gently tapped the three words "sink down" on the blackboard, and emphasized his tone: "Sinking down doesn't mean burying yourself in old books and studying classical allusions. It means immersing yourself in the classics to distinguish truth from falsehood, and even more so, immersing yourself in life to observe the people's sentiments."

When I was compiling "Selected Works of Chinese Literature Through the Ages," I wrote letters to colleagues at more than a dozen universities about variant readings of a single character. It wasn't out of nitpicking, but because I knew the foundation of literature lay in 'truth'—authentic allusions, authentic life experiences, and genuine emotions.

"As for 'standing up',"

Zhu Dongrun turned around and faced the students, his eyes full of expectation. At this moment, he was the director of the Chinese Department of Fudan University, a teacher, and even more so, a guide for the burgeoning Chinese literature.

"It's not about making you mere 'empty shells' in the literary world, but about establishing the backbone of contemporary literature: when writing about tradition, weave metaphors and allegories into the stories of reform; when writing about reality, place your personal joys and sorrows within the pulse of the nation, making them all footnotes to history; when writing about innovation, don't abandon the 'word-refining techniques' of Chinese just because you've learned the Western 'stream of consciousness.' You should be like the Eight Great Masters of the Tang and Song Dynasties, brewing the wisdom of our ancestors into a new wine for the contemporary era."

He raised his hand to wipe the corner of his eye, his voice filled with warmth: "I am seventy-six years old this year. I have spent my whole life dealing with pen and ink, and I know best how the torch of literature has been passed down."

It's not about relying on books, but on generations of young people like you who are willing to immerse themselves in the world and dare to stand tall.

Your generation must not only understand the "literary spirit" of *The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons*, but also be able to write about the "people's sentiments" of the reform era; you must not only uphold the integrity of Chinese characters, but also forge a new path for contemporary literature.

Finally, Zhu Dongrun raised the fountain pen and waved it at the audience, as if conveying a weighty entrustment: "Do not fail this era of surging spring tides, do not fail the square characters under your pen, and do not fail the cultural heritage on your shoulders."

In the future, some of you may go on to proofread ancient books, some may go on to write contemporary stories, and some may go on to translate foreign works.

But remember, whichever path you choose, always remember: the roots of literature lie in the soil of China; the soul of literature resides in the hearts of the Chinese people. This torch is now passed on to you.

When he finished speaking, the classroom was silent for a moment, then erupted in even more enthusiastic applause than before.

The applause lacked the initial curiosity and the awe felt from listening to Xu Chengjun's lecture; it was more of a respect for an elder and a moving expression of the transmission of cultural heritage.

Xu Chengjun watched as the teacher stepped down from the podium, showing no intention of continuing.

This brings the topic back to the connection between modern literature and classical literary theory.

We will explain modern perspectives to each student in a simple and easy-to-understand way.

The logic and framework are mature viewpoints from 2024 onwards, and have been slightly modified to adapt to the current social environment.

But it's novel enough, and unconventional enough.

This keeps students of this age constantly on the go.

He would occasionally add, "If you have an idea, you have to put it into practice, and to put it into practice, you have to submit the manuscript to 'Inspur'."

The audience laughed and joked.

Zhu Dongrun smiled and said to Hu Shuyu and Jia Zhifang sitting next to him, "This kid's lectures are alright, aren't they?"

Jia Zhifang was always so arrogant and strange; he simply nodded slightly.

Hu Shuyu commented, "The viewpoint is novel and different from current literary approaches, but it seems to have logic and a system. The future is uncertain!"

He paused for a moment: "But in any case, if you can still forge a new path at this age, the word 'genius' is clearly not enough. You've certainly taken on a good student."

I'm so envious!

Zhu Dongrun laughed heartily, while Jia Zhifang rolled her eyes at him in annoyance.

"Let's play chess when we get home tonight!"

"Haven't you lost enough?"

"Come on, come on!"

Hu Shuyu, born in 1918, is 61 years old this year. He is one of the founders of modern Chinese grammar research, especially focusing on modern Chinese grammar, vocabulary and language education. His textbooks have become the "benchmark" for universities across the country.

He was also a highly accomplished master in the Chinese Department of Fudan University.

The bell rang, but the students didn't rush to leave. They surrounded Xu Chengjun, asking him all sorts of questions: "Teacher Xu, how can we effectively transform tradition?"

Will you be talking about world literature again next time?

When will "The Mailbox of Hope" be published?

Xu Chengjun responded with a smile to each question, and occasionally he would throw questions to Zhu Dongrun. The old gentleman would not refuse and would take up the conversation to talk about how Tang and Song literati "transformed the past into the present".

After that, Fudan University gained a "well-known" teaching assistant - Xu Chengjun.

The workload of teaching was even more than that of a regular lecturer!
Blame it?

Zhang Peiheng, Huang Lin, Zhu Bangwei, and others would always bring in a "part-time teaching assistant" whenever they had a class.

Xu Chengjun was helpless.

These people certainly know how to find leisure!
Which graduate students are willing to teach undergraduate courses? And are they being paid?
-
On a weekend evening, the setting sun bathed the gray bricks and tiles of Shanghai's alleyways in a warm golden glow.

Xu Chengjun clutched two boxes of Wuxi clay figurines that he had bought from Huaiguo.

When Su Manshu mentioned that her mother's favorite characters when she was young were "Afu and Axi," I felt a little nervous.

This is the first time in my two lifetimes that I've ever been to my girlfriend's house!
No matter how old you get, you're bound to feel stressed eventually!
Fortunately, Su Liancheng is in the capital this month attending the Fourth National Congress of Literary and Art Workers, so he can spend time alone with his mother-in-law!

Su Manshu walked beside him, her skirt sweeping across the bluestone path. She was carrying a bag of Yangshan peaches she had just bought. She smiled and nudged his arm: "Don't be nervous. My mom looks serious, but she's actually very soft-hearted. Last time I secretly sang your song 'Waiting for You to Return to the North Countryside' to her, and she even praised the lyrics."

Xu Chengjun nodded.

A well-bred young lady who sings "Wuxi Scenery" would probably also appreciate the flavor of "Northern Countryside".

The Su residence, nestled deep within the alleyways, is a two-story building with a small courtyard, its wooden door adorned with a faded wooden plaque.

Pushing open the door, the old osmanthus tree in the courtyard was wafting its fragrance. Under the tree was a rattan chair, and on the stone table next to it was an open copy of "Selected Song Lyrics," with a dried osmanthus flower between the pages.

Without asking, it must be the place where Su Manshu's mother often sits.

"Mom, we're here!"

Su Manshu called out first, and then soft footsteps immediately came from inside the house.

The woman who came out was wearing a moon-white cheongsam, her hair was neatly combed, and a silver hairpin was pinned in her hair.

She is Su Manshu's mother, Shen Yuru.

Back then, the youngest daughter of the Shen family in Wuxi made a huge fuss with her family for half a year in order to come to Shanghai with Su Liancheng. In the end, she came with just a small bundle on her back. To this day, this story is still a beautiful tale of "eloping for love" among the older generation of the Su family.

Shen Yuru's gaze first fell on Xu Chengjun, scanning him up and down.

The polyester shirt he was wearing was picked out by Su Manshu; the cuffs were neatly ironed, and the clay figurine box in his hand was tied with a red string, so it looked quite presentable.

Is it alright?

Maybe not!
The young man is so handsome, he's half as good-looking as my husband Su was when he was young!

She didn't smile immediately, but simply nodded: "Come in, the dishes have just been cooked."

The interior decoration exudes the elegance of old Shanghai.

The living room features a mahogany sofa from the Republican era, with a Suzhou embroidery cushion embroidered with orchids draped over the armrest, hand-embroidered by Shen Yuru.

Hanging on the wall is a traditional Chinese ink painting of Jiangnan, painted by Su Manshu's maternal grandfather, depicting Taihu Lake in Wuxi.

A glass jar on the corner of the table contained fragrant roasted pumpkin seeds, and next to it was a white porcelain cup with some Longjing tea dregs at the bottom.

Everywhere you look, you see the refinement of a well-bred lady, yet you also find the warmth of everyday life.

Su's mother could be considered a member of the petit bourgeoisie in this era.

"Is Comrade Xu from Fengyang, Anhui?"

Shen Yuru poured Xu Chengjun a cup of tea, holding the cup with an emotionless tone, "Manshu said you were sent to the countryside during the Cultural Revolution, later got into Fudan University for graduate studies, and even wrote quite a few articles?"

Xu Chengjun took the teacup with both hands. The temperature was just right. He carefully answered, "I am from Dongfeng, Anhui. I was sent to the countryside in Xujiatun, Fengyang. Last year, I was admitted to Fudan University and studied Tang and Song literature under Mr. Zhu Dongrun. Writing is a hobby. For example, 'Red Silk' is to record the stories of soldiers on the front line. My older brother is still stationed in the south. I always feel that I should write something for them."

"Oh? Big brother is at the front lines?"

Shen Yuru raised her eyes, her gaze becoming more serious. "When you wrote 'Red Silk,' weren't you afraid of the sensitive subject matter? Nowadays, many people in the literary world write these kinds of stories, either shouting slogans or avoiding the important issues."

Ten years ago, Xu Chengjun's family was considered to be marrying above their station.

Of course, 30 years ago, she definitely wouldn't have been interested.

"It cannot be avoided."

Xu Chengjun put down his teacup and spoke earnestly, “The soldiers in ‘Red Silk’ weren’t fighting for slogans, but for their families and for their future. I wrote about them to let everyone know that heroes are also ordinary people, with concerns and vulnerabilities, which makes them real. Just like when you came to Shanghai from Wuxi, you must have been afraid, but you still came for Professor Su—some things are worth the risk.”

Su Manshu rolled her eyes at him, "Simp!"

Upon hearing this, Shen Yuru's gaze softened noticeably.

She didn't reply, but got up and walked to the kitchen: "The food is almost ready, Manshu, bring out the braised pork ribs for me."

Taking the opportunity, Su Manshu winked at Xu Chengjun and whispered, "Not bad, you've got a lot to say!"

Xu Chengjun smiled and squeezed her hand: "To be honest! Auntie must be a very sentimental person to go with Professor Su despite her family's objections."

The aroma wafting from the kitchen grew stronger and stronger.

It has the unique sweetness and freshness of Wuxi cuisine.

The first dish Shen Yuru served was braised pork ribs. The ribs were coated in a bright red sauce and sprinkled with chopped green onions. They had been simmered in Wuxi soy sauce for three hours, and the aroma permeated even the crevices of the bones.

Next up is stuffed gluten puffs in clear broth. The gluten puffs were sent from my hometown in Wuxi, and when you bite into them, they burst with fresh juice.

There's also a dish of stir-fried silverfish with eggs, so tender it melts in your mouth.

If we can't get the silverfish from Taihu Lake, we'll have to make do with other fish.

The table was laden with food, all prepared by Shen Yuru two days in advance. Even the rice was cooked in a Yixing clay pot, making it fragrant and soft.

"Try these ribs,"

Shen Yuru placed a piece on Xu Chengjun's plate, her tone gentler than before, "Wuxi-style braised pork ribs require choosing spare ribs and slowly stewing them with rock sugar, rice wine, and dark soy sauce until the meat falls off the bone easily. My mother used to say that cooking is like life; you can't rush it."

The words had a hidden meaning, but Xu Chengjun pretended not to hear them.

He took a bite, the sweet and fresh flavor spreading in his mouth, making him lick his teeth. He said with a scalp tingling, "Auntie's cooking is really good, even more authentic than the Wuxi restaurants I ate at in Hefei."

There's not a single Wuxi restaurant in Hefei!

Su Manshu immediately chimed in, "Of course! My mom's cooking is famous throughout our neighborhood. Aunt Zhang even came to borrow her recipe for stewed pork ribs last time!"

Shen Yuru glared at her, but instead put a piece of fried gluten on Su Manshu's plate: "You're so sweet-talking, eat up, stop talking."

During the meal, Shen Yuru asked Xu Chengjun about his writing again. Xu Chengjun smiled and said, "I'm thinking of writing a story about city life lately. These days everyone's writing about rural areas, but the realities of city life also need attention. If I have the chance in the future, I'd also like to write a story about Wuxi. Manshu said your hometown garden is especially beautiful; maybe I can write it into a novel." "Oh? You want to write about Wuxi?"

A smile appeared in Shen Yuru's eyes. "My family used to have a small garden in Wuxi, with an old magnolia tree that would fill the garden with fragrance in the spring. Later, when I came to Shanghai, my mother would send me sachets made of magnolia petals every year. If you really want to write, I can tell you about the old days in the garden."

Xu Chengjun quickly nodded: "That's great, Auntie's story is definitely more true than what I made up."

Su Manshu smiled secretly to herself. She knew that her mother was gradually accepting Xu Chengjun.

In the past, when guests came to our house, my mother would never bring up the gardens in Wuxi; they were the softest memory in her heart.

During the meal, Xu Chengjun chatted with Shen Yuru about literature, music, and the current social economy. His ability to speak to people in a way they could understand, honed in his previous life, allowed him to navigate the conversation with ease.

Shen Yuru's attitude gradually softened.

As dinner was drawing to a close, Shen Yuru took out a bottle of her treasured Wuxi rice wine and poured Xu Chengjun a small half-cup: "This wine was part of my dowry from my father. It's been stored for almost twenty years. I'm happy today, so I'm letting you have a taste."

Xu Chengjun took the glass of wine. The wine was amber in color. He took a sip and found it to be slightly sweet and not strong.

As she was leaving, Shen Yuru stood at the door, holding a bag of freshly roasted pumpkin seeds, and handed it to Xu Chengjun: "Come again next time you have time. I'll make you Wuxi-style sweet taro. Manshu has loved it since she was little."

Xu Chengjun accepted the gift, his heart filled with warmth: "Thank you, Auntie. Next time I'll bring some Fengyang red bean cakes from Anhui. My mom makes them. Please try them."

Watching Xu Chengjun and Su Manshu walk side by side down the alley, Shen Yuru sighed softly and turned back into the house.

Su Manshu had just returned from dropping Xu Chengjun off when she saw her mother sitting in a wicker chair, holding that old photograph in her hand.

It's a photo of her and Su Liancheng taken at Wuxi Railway Station years ago. In the photo, her eyes are full of ambition. "Manman, come and sit down."

Shen Yuru patted the seat next to her, her tone somewhat solemn, "Xu Chengjun seems steady and sensible, unlike some young people who just talk a good game. You have good taste, just like your mother!"

"You didn't say that before!"

Su Manshu sat down next to her mother and smiled, "Mom, didn't you used to worry that he was too young and unreliable?"

“Being young isn’t a mistake, but lacking responsibility is.” Shen Yuru stroked her daughter’s hair, her eyes full of the expectations of someone who had been through it all. “When I came to Shanghai with your father, everyone in the family objected, saying he was a poor scholar who couldn’t give me a good life.”

But I know he's learned and, more importantly, has a conscience; no matter how difficult things get, he wouldn't let me suffer. Looking at Xu Chengjun now, he writes articles remembering heroes, cares about his family, and is attentive to you—this is the kind of person you can entrust your life to.”

She paused, her tone meaningful: "Living life is like cooking; you can't rush it. You have to simmer it slowly to bring out the flavor. You two will have tough times together in the future, just like this wine. The longer it's stored, the better it tastes. Mom only hopes that you, like I did back then, have chosen the right person. So don't be afraid, just keep going."

"Don't worry, Mom! I believe in myself, and I believe in him!"
-
More than ten days passed after Su Manshu returned to school.

Xu Chengjun's lecture on "The Connection Between Contemporary Literature and Classical Literature" is getting better and better, and students are giving it high praise.

It's fair to say that his teaching assistant career was an instant success!
It even attracted many students from outside the school to listen to the lectures.

His essays on Song Dynasty literature were also published on the front page of the Social Sciences Edition of the Fudan Journal, once again creating a significant impact in academic circles and gradually establishing his academic status.

Meanwhile, Huang Lin has found "free labor," and Xu Chengjun has also received a new "substitute" job—a lecture on Song Dynasty literature!
end of June.

The reputation of "Red Silk" continued to grow, and its influence gradually expanded from cities to rural areas. In addition to the NJ Military Region, other major military regions also contacted Xu Chengjun and invited him to visit and offer his condolences.

On the Fudan University campus, the campus radio has even started broadcasting "Red Silk," which has indirectly helped the sales of the inaugural issue of "Qingming" exceed 20 copies!
It surpassed the sales of the inaugural issue of "October"!
This is an achievement that can be recorded in history for a magazine like Qingming.

There may be six top-tier literary magazines in the future.
"The Mailbox of Hope" has also been scheduled for publication, with the full text to be published in the December issue of Harvest.

Xu Chengjun received invitations to contribute articles from publications such as "October," "Contemporary," and even "People's Literature," as well as numerous local newspapers, and he politely replied to each one.

Whether or not you can submit an article is another matter, but a polite reply is still necessary.

Regarding student organizations.

As the design of the inaugural issue of "The Wave" magazine gradually improved, Xu Chengjun contributed three poems and two essays to it.

Why don't you write novels?
More space should be allocated to students, especially those who have the desire to create modern literature but whose writing skills are not up to par with top-tier publications!

Xu Chengjun's works only need to generate enough hype for "The Wave".

Xu Chengjun and Su Manshu's love story officially entered a new stage. The two began to appear together in various occasions without any hesitation, becoming a perfect couple on the Fudan University campus.

Xu Chengjun's fame goes without saying, and Su Manshu was also the uncrowned campus beauty of Fudan University before Xu Chengjun came. In later generations, she could be said to have "natural popularity".

When other teachers and classmates greeted them, the two didn't shy away and responded with smiles.

This is the power you have after meeting the parents!

In particular, Xu Xiaomei started calling Su Manshu "sister-in-law" in front of others, which initially made Su Manshu blush.

Later, people got used to calling them that, and all the livestock in unit 201 started calling them that too. They even extorted a meal from Xu Chengjun because of this.

At the dinner, Su Manshu introduced herself and Xu Chengjun's roommates in a very open and generous manner.

Hu Zhi patted Zhou Haibo on the shoulder and secretly gave him a thumbs up: "Look, this is the demeanor of a legitimate wife!"

Su Manshu, who was standing nearby, overheard these words: "What, Xu Chengjun has a concubine?"

"Nonsense! Nonsense!"
-
October 27th arrived, and the most influential event in the Chinese literary world of the 1980s came.

capital.

The autumn sun shone brightly on the glazed tiles of the Great Hall of the People.

As the flag of the Fourth National Congress of Literary and Art Workers was raised at the venue, radio waves were carrying the message of "ideological liberation and the spring of literature and art" to every university and every editorial office across the country.

On the Fudan University campus, the loudspeakers were packed with teachers and students, and the blackboard bulletin board in the cafeteria was surrounded by layers of people. Even the closing bell of the library could not disperse the students discussing the "Literature and Art Congress".

Xu Chengjun listened to the live broadcast in the lecture hall of the Chinese Department.

The wooden chairs were full of people. Someone had placed a transistor radio in the center of the podium. The signal was sometimes strong and sometimes weak, but no one complained.

The preheating hum of the vacuum tube radio gradually subsided, the prelude to "The East Is Red" began briefly and then ended, and the announcer's deep and solemn voice pierced through the noise.

"Dear listeners, this is China National Radio. We are now broadcasting live the opening ceremony of the Fourth National Congress of Chinese Literary and Art Workers. After 19 years, more than 3,200 literary and art workers from 30 ethnic groups across the country have gathered in Beijing. This grand event, which carries on the past and opens up the future, is ushering in a new era for the literary and art cause."

Then, applause from the venue could be heard in the background, lasting for nearly half a minute before gradually fading.

"Now broadcasting an excerpt from the congratulatory message delivered by a representative of the designers: 'In the seventeen years before the beep, our artistic path was basically correct, and the achievements were remarkable!'"

He emphasized that literary and artistic workers should be "promoters of the four modernizations": liberating thought, maintaining stability and unity, safeguarding national unity, and realizing the Four Modernizations. He pointed out: "The people are the mother of literary and artistic workers; the artistic life of all progressive literary and artistic workers lies in their flesh-and-blood ties with the people!"

The audience erupted in thunderous applause that lasted for a long time, and the announcer paused for a few seconds.

"This thought-provoking statement brought tears to the eyes of the veteran artists present and greatly inspired hundreds of millions of listeners."

When the voice of Mr. Mao Dun, the No. 1 writer in the National Writers Association, came through the radio and mentioned that "literature and art should serve the people and also serve socialism," the spontaneous applause that erupted from the audience almost drowned out the speech on the radio.

The sycamore leaves outside the window were swept by the wind and fell onto the windowsill, as words and the tide of "literary spring" collided.

The excitement on campus was even greater than expected.

The event reached another climax when the broadcast of Ba Jin's interview aired.

"Listeners, we are now meeting with Mr. Ba Jin, a member of the Shanghai delegation, at the delegates' residence. Mr. Ba said: 'To be able to reunite with old friends after ten years, and to see the literary and artistic circles reunited, is more precious than anything else.'"

(A fragment of Peking Opera singing can be heard in the distance) That's Guan Suqian, the representative from Guizhou, practicing her skills. This Peking Opera actress, who is over fifty years old, still has a leg injury that hasn't healed, but she insists on practicing her singing every day: "I want to make up for the time I've lost!"

The student union worked overnight to plaster every dormitory building with special editions of the People's Daily and Guangming Daily from the Literary Congress, with headlines such as "Breaking the Black Line of Literature and Art" and "Restoring the Policy of Letting a Hundred Flowers Bloom" circled in red for emphasis.

Students passing by crowded around to read.

Someone took out their notebook to copy down the key points.

Some people debated whether "scar literature" would find new space. Even an old history professor who doesn't usually like to join in the fun stood in front of the bulletin board for a long time, wearing his reading glasses and muttering, "Finally, this day has come."

When Xu Chengjun went to the mailroom to collect his mail, Master Wang handed him a stack of newly arrived "Literary Gazettes" and said with a smile, "Comrade Chengjun, look, they mentioned your 'Red Silk' in it! With this literary congress, good days are coming for you young writers!"

During the days of the literary congress, the literary salons organized by the Wave Literature Society were three times more lively than usual.

In the small classroom of the Fairy Boat Pavilion.

Students from the Chinese Literature Department surrounded Xu Chengjun, clutching photocopies of his works, and pressed him for details, asking, "Will creative freedom increase after the National Congress of Literary and Art Circles?"

Foreign language students, armed with translated Western modernist literary theories, wanted to discuss with him "how to integrate foreign techniques into Chinese stories."

Even physics students joined in, saying they wanted to incorporate the spirit of the Literature and Art Congress into popular science articles.

The idea that "literature and art must be rooted in reality," which Mao Dun mentioned in his speech, has also inspired everyone who loves literature in this era to hope that they can write down what's in their hearts.

What surprised Xu Chengjun the most was that on the closing day of the literary and art congress, the special edition of the "Literary Gazette" published excerpts of Mao Dun's speech.

He opened the newspaper in his dormitory and slid his fingertips down the text. When he saw the words, "Xu Chengjun's 'Trying-out Mirror' and 'Red Silk' use small details to reflect the great era and the joys and sorrows of ordinary people to reflect the pulse of the times, which is a pioneering move in the creation of new realism," he smiled.

This can be considered as leaving one's name at the Fourth National Congress of Literary and Art Workers.

The person didn't go, but their name was printed on it!
Zhou Haibo from the next dorm room just barged in. Seeing his name in the newspaper, he patted him on the shoulder and shouted, "Chengjun! You're amazing! Even Mao Gong praised you for setting a precedent! From now on, you'll be the face of Fudan's Chinese Department!"

Xu Chengjun: "Is the signboard not very old?"

"Depend on!"

That afternoon, Xu Chengjun took the newspaper to Mr. Zhu Dongrun's house.

It just so happened that the radio was broadcasting a midday special.

"Dear listeners, during this literary and art congress, Comrade Zhou Yang specifically mentioned in his report that poems such as Ke Yan's 'Premier Zhou, Where Are You?', Li Ying's 'Mourning in January', and Xu Chengjun's 'Salute' carry the emotions of the people."

The conference briefing revealed that delegates were engaged in lively discussions on how to promote children's literature and revive traditional opera, with writers such as Qin Mu and Qiao Yu calling for "writing uplifting and positive works for children."

The old gentleman was flipping through documents from the literary and art congress while sitting in a rattan chair. When he saw the evaluation in the newspaper, his eyes lit up. He pointed to the words "new realism" and said, "Beware of arrogance and impetuosity."

As the sun set, Xu Chengjun walked along the tree-lined paths of Fudan University. The radio was still replaying the speech from the literary and art congress. The laughter and discussions of the students came from the dormitory buildings, mixed with the aroma of food wafting from the canteen, becoming the most vivid footnote to 1979.

In the expanded edition of "Please Answer 1979", Xu Chengjun wrote: "The 1979 National Congress of Writers and Artists was like a timely rain, drenching the literary world that had been parched for many years. We young people holding pens finally dared to write reality into novels, dared to integrate tradition into innovation, and dared to believe that words can truly illuminate the future."

This belief, which began when the flag was raised at the Great Hall of the People, sprouted among the plane trees of Fudan University and will eventually grow into a new forest belonging to Chinese literature.

The Fourth Congress of Literary and Art Workers successfully concluded on October 30.

The radio then played the closing song, "Toast Song," and the announcer added softly, "Tonight at 21 PM, this station will rebroadcast the full text of the designer's congratulatory speech, as well as interviews with representatives such as Ding Ling and Xia Yan. Please tune in. This is Zhuang'er Radio Station. See you next time."

What followed was another surge of excitement in the literary world.

People's Literature also announced the preliminary selection of outstanding short stories and novellas from across the country in 1979.

"The Fitting Mirror" was selected as a short story, and "The Barn" was selected as a medium-length story.

Even if Xu Chengjun no longer creates, he will certainly be a writer recorded in the history of contemporary Chinese literature.

(End of this chapter)