My era, 1979!

Chapter 146 Silence and Longing Are Deafening

As Jia Zhifang's bicycle bell faded into the distance, the sandalwood and tea aromas in the main room settled in once more.

Zhu Dongrun did not sit back in the rattan chair, but walked to the desk and arranged Xu Chengjun's three papers according to their publication dates, gently brushing over the red circles on the margins of the pages.

Those were marks he made when he checked the documents word by word, to demonstrate the rigor of the research and the novelty of his viewpoints.

Zhu Dongrun personally oversaw the review of all three papers.

Word by word.

All were official red stamps.

"Of your three pieces, 'The Emotional Expression in Letters of Song Dynasty Literati' is the most skillful."

Suddenly, Zhu Lao spoke, his voice a few decibels deeper than when he had been arguing with Jia Zhifang, carrying the prudence of years of scholarship.

"Regarding Huang Tingjian's letter to Wang Guanfu, you cited both the printed edition of 'Shangu Waiji' and a fragment from Volume 3207 of the 'Yongle Encyclopedia' as evidence."

Even the variant readings of the phrase "A scholar-official should conduct himself like an orchid" are marked with the note that "Yuan editions mostly use '蕙' (hui), while Song editions use '兰' (lan)."
This level of meticulousness is something even Zhang Peiheng, when collating Su Shi's "Yuefu" (a collection of poems by Su Shi), would have to acknowledge.

Xu Chengjun chuckled to himself.

Senior Brother Zhang often says, "You are the worst class of junior brothers I have ever taught!"

You reload!
He stood aside, listening to the teacher point out specific details from the documents, and secretly admired him.

Although the gentleman did not personally visit the rare book room, he was very knowledgeable about the unusual stories surrounding the editions.

He was about to say, "It was you who taught me to verify every word with three certificates," when he saw Old Zhu turn around and pull out a thread-bound book with a blue cloth cover from the bookshelf.

The cover bears the inscription "Notes on the Study of Song Dynasty Literary Styles" written by the author himself, and the edges of the pages have turned yellow and become brittle.

"This is a draft I made when I was at Southwest Associated University in the 1940s. I wanted to compile a 'Genealogy of Niche Literary Styles in the Song Dynasty.' Later, due to the war, most of the manuscript was lost, and only these fragments remain."

Old Zhu opened the notebook, which was filled with densely packed tiny characters, along with a few fragments of documents copied from the library years ago. "Your current research on inscriptions and letters is a direct continuation of what I didn't finish back then. But it's not enough for just two people to do it; we need to expand the scope."

Qin Guan's *Huaihai Jushi Changduanju* contains numerous inscriptions and colophons on paintings, and Chen Shidao's *Houshan Ji* contains over forty letters discussing poetry with friends. These must all be compiled and edited to fit into the framework of 'Song Dynasty Everyday Literature'.

Xu Chengjun took the notes and suddenly remembered the Ming Dynasty manuscript of "Huaihai Jushi's Collected Works" that he had found in the rare book room of Fudan University a while ago. It did contain several postscripts that were not included in "Complete Song Lyrics".

He continued, following the teacher's train of thought: "Sir, a few days ago I was sorting through the fragments of the Yongle Encyclopedia, and in volume 14,502 I found a lost postscript by Qin Guan for the painting 'Ink Bamboo,' in which he mentioned, 'When painting bamboo, one should capture its spirit, just as poetry should be inspired.'"
This perfectly echoes the imagery of his poem, "Floating flowers are as light as a dream."

I plan to begin with Qin and Chen, compiling a book titled "Collected and Collated Lost Writings of Song Dynasty Literati in Daily Life Styles," and then organize them by theme—"Discussions on Art," "Remembering People," and "Travel Records"—to trace the differences in emotional expression across various literary styles.

"Yes, that's the right approach."

Old Zhu nodded, walked to the window, looked at the old osmanthus tree in the courtyard, and said with a hint of expectation, "But we need to speed up the process. You know the current predicament of academia."

The compilation of "Complete Works of the Song Dynasty" has not yet begun, rare and unique copies are scattered in various places, and even the "Collected Drafts of the Song Dynasty Administrative Regulations" only has incomplete photocopies.

The work you're doing now—collecting and classifying lost texts—is building a ladder for those who come after you.

Next spring, a national symposium on Song Dynasty literature will be held in Nanjing. I've already registered your keynote speech; the title is "The Literary Connotations and Documentary Value of Everyday Writing in the Song Dynasty." You need to produce a solid first draft before the end of the year and force yourself to thoroughly understand the materials from the Qin and Chen dynasties.

Xu Chengjun was startled.

Teacher, you're paving the way again, aren't you!

He knew the significance of this national symposium, which was attended by renowned figures like Cheng Qianfan and Tang Guizhang. For a first-year graduate student to give a keynote speech was both an opportunity and a challenge.

This also means that he is at least a respectable young scholar.

After a moment's thought, he shared his further thoughts: "Sir, I would like to include a 'material culture comparison' during the editing process."

For example, the "Chengxintang paper" mentioned in Su Shi's postscript has an actual Song Dynasty specimen in the Shanghai Museum, which I can go and verify the paper texture.

The "Li Tinggui ink" mentioned by Huang Tingjian is recorded in the "Xuanhe Painting Catalogue," which can be used to corroborate his inscription on the ink.

This way, there is not only documentary evidence but also physical evidence to support the argument, making it more solid.

These words made a glimmer of light flash in Old Zhu's eyes.

He turned around and picked up the "Annotations on the Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons" on the table, turned to the "Original Way" chapter, and pointed to the sentence "The virtue of literature is great indeed. What is it that is born alongside heaven and earth?" Liu Xie said, "Literature is born alongside heaven and earth, which means that literature is never an empty castle in the air. It must be rooted in concrete objects and life."

It's far better to have documents and physical evidence corroborate each other than to simply bury things in old papers.

But remember, 'fast' does not mean 'crude'—every lost article must be checked against at least three versions;

For each artifact, its collection number and format details must be clearly recorded, such as the fiber direction of Chengxintang paper and the crack patterns of Li Tinggui ink. This is fundamental work that others will never be able to replicate later.

Xu Chengjun quickly nodded and noted it down, then added, "Sir, I have a long-term idea. The collected and categorized lost texts we have now could perhaps be indexed in the future by 'author,' 'era,' 'theme,' or even…"

If conditions permit in the future, these materials should be compiled into a systematic database for easy retrieval by future generations. Manual transcription is slow now, but establishing a framework first will save a lot of trouble later.

These words sounded somewhat "ahead of their time" in 1979.

But in later generations, it simply became commonplace.

Old Zhu paused for a moment, then laughed, pointing at Xu Chengjun's forehead: "Your mind goes further than this old man's. I don't understand what a database is, but your idea of ​​'building a framework' is correct."

When I was compiling "Selected Works of Chinese Literature Through the Ages," I first established the framework of "combining literature and history," and then gradually filled in the content, which eventually led to its current form.

Since you have this idea, draft the index format first. For example, under the author's name, note their birth and death dates, major collections of works, and for lost works, indicate the source and edition. Even if you don't continue it later, others can still carry on the work.

Zhu Dongrun sometimes wondered how this kid's brain worked, coming up with one clever idea after another.

Unfortunately, humans cannot have three heads and six arms.

Otherwise, he would have produced many more academic achievements.

As he spoke, Mr. Zhu took out a kraft paper envelope from the drawer and handed it to Xu Chengjun: "Inside is a copy of Fu Zengxiang's handwritten edition of 'Shangu Tiba' that I copied from the Beijing Library in my early years, as well as a few letters with Japanese sinologists, in which he mentioned a variant reading of 'Dongpo Zhilin' in the Seikado collection."

Take this as a reference. If you have any questions during the collation process, go directly to Wang Shuizhao. He just returned from Beijing and has seen the original, unique copy from the Seikado Bunko Art Museum.

Xu Chengjun took the envelope, feeling the weight of the paper—the academic accumulation of several generations of scholars.

He suddenly remembered the Fengyang red bean cakes he had brought with him, so he quickly took them out of his cloth bag, divided them into two portions, placed one portion on his teacher's desk, and handed the other portion to his teacher.

"Sir, I bought this cake on Nanjing East Road. It tastes pretty much the same as the ones I make at home. I heard it's made from freshly harvested soybeans. Why don't you try it with some white tea to help you relax?"

Old Zhu took the cake, took a bite, and the aroma of beans mixed with the fragrance of tea spread in his mouth.

He looked at the student in front of him and suddenly sighed, his tone full of satisfaction: "I have been teaching for decades and have seen many smart students, but there are not many like you who can both concentrate on doing academic research and have a long-term vision."

Remember, academic achievements are not something that can be accomplished overnight, but while you are full of energy and have a fresh perspective, you should do more pioneering work.

"If in the future, when others mention the study of everyday writing styles in the Song Dynasty, and can say, 'Xu Chengjun pioneered this field,' then my teaching of you won't have been in vain."

Xu Chengjun felt a warmth in his heart and bowed, saying, "Don't worry, sir, I will definitely make the most of the time and finish the first draft and index format before the New Year. After the New Year, I will go to the Shanghai Museum to verify the actual objects. I will definitely live up to your expectations."

Old Zhu waved his hand, gesturing for him to sit down, and then picked up the book "Notes on the Study of Song Dynasty Literary Styles": "Don't be too tense. You need to balance work and rest when doing academic research."

I don't object to you writing novels or running a literary society; on the contrary, I think it's a good thing.

Literary studies cannot be limited to understanding documents; one must also understand human nature and life. Didn't your grasp of the "everyday life" aspect in writing *Red Silk* help you better understand the colophons of Song Dynasty literati? The key is to distinguish between primary and secondary points; only with a solid academic foundation can other aspects flourish.

Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on the papers and notebooks on the desk, casting long shadows of the two men.

Looking at the white hair at his teacher's temples, and then looking down at the Fu Zengxiang hand-corrected copy in his hand, Xu Chengjun suddenly felt that the burden on his shoulders was quite heavy.

I didn't realize it when I first arrived.

But now the master has clearly come to regard him as his last disciple.

That is the weight of academic inheritance, and also the warmth of teachers' long-term expectations.

The professor wanted him to accelerate not only the progress, but also to take up the "new banner" of Song Dynasty literature research in this era of academic revival and forge a path that no one had ever taken before.

"Now that I've settled my academic affairs, I'm itching to get back to work."

Old Zhu opened the chess box, the black and white pieces neatly arranged. "Your Mr. Jia just left, so there's no one to play chess with me. Come on, let's play a few games."

Xu Chengjun was taken aback for a moment, then laughed and said, "Sir, why don't you ask Mr. Shui Zhao or Senior Brother Zhang for help? My chess skills are mediocre, and I'm afraid I'll spoil your fun."

"them?"

Old Zhu paused in placing the chess pieces, a familiar, meticulous look appearing on his lips. "Shui Zhao plays too steadily, always striving for perfection; Pei Heng, on the other hand, is too impatient, always thinking of a quick victory."

You're different; you're meticulous when doing academic research, flexible when thinking about problems, and you might even have a new approach to chess.

Seeing that his teacher was adamant, Xu Chengjun had no choice but to sit down at the chess table and pick up a white piece: "Then I'll make a fool of myself. But let me make it clear from the start, we'll be playing Gomoku today, you'll have to find someone else for Go."

Playing Go with this old man can really keep you playing from morning till night.

Alright, let's play Gomoku.

"Five in a row it is!"

Mr. Zhu didn't care at all and placed a black piece in the center of the board. "When I was young in Wuxi, I played Gomoku with the owner of a grocery store and won twelve games in a row."

"If you can beat me, go to the Shanghai Museum after the New Year to verify the artifacts. I'll write you a letter of introduction so they can give you priority access to their collection."

Wow, so you're trying to set up a sting operation!
teacher!

He composed himself and placed his first white piece, deliberately placing it diagonally opposite the black piece: "Sir, there are no distinctions on the chessboard, and I will not let you win."

"That's the spirit I'm looking for!"

Old Zhu's eyes lit up, and his fingers quickly placed the second black piece. "Scholarship requires rigor, and chess requires daring. If you don't even have the courage to beat me, what are you doing pursuing scholarship?"

Sunlight streamed through the window and fell onto the chessboard.

At first, Zhu Lao had the upper hand, with the black pieces pressing forward step by step, and it looked like they were about to form a three-piece chain.

Xu Chengjun remained calm and, taking advantage of the teacher's offensive, quietly set up a diagonal formation on the other side.

Before long, Old Zhu frowned and gestured with his fingers on the chessboard: "Something's not right. Your move was tricky. It seems like you planned this all along."

"What my teacher taught me is, 'Preparation is the key to success.'" Xu Chengjun smiled as he placed the crucial piece, connecting four white stones and leaving only one empty space. "You've lost."

Old Zhu stared at the chessboard for a long time before he suddenly realized, "You little rascal, you actually set a trap for me! Let's play again, but this game doesn't count, I couldn't see through your moves."

Xu Chengjun suppressed a laugh and rearranged the chess pieces: "Sir, you just said 'there are no big or small matters on the chessboard,' and a loss is a loss. However, I can play with you again. For every loss, I will edit and proofread one more lost postscript by Qin Guan. How about that?"

"That's what you said!"

Old Zhu immediately perked up and started playing even faster. "You're not leaving until I win three games today!"

The sandalwood incense in the main room gradually faded, replaced by the crisp sound of chess pieces clashing and Old Master Zhu's occasional exclamations of surprise: "Eh? Another move short!"

"How did you train this diagonal formation?"

While dealing with the situation, Xu Chengjun occasionally chatted with his teacher about the details of document collation. Before he knew it, a full hour had passed.

By the time the final game ended, the sun had already begun to set.

Xu Chengjun defeated his teacher with a score of 5 to 3. Although Mr. Zhu was a little annoyed, he still smiled and patted him on the shoulder: "Okay, it was worth losing! With your brain, you can not only do academic research, but also play chess."

"After the New Year, when you go to the Shanghai Museum, I'll write you a letter of introduction. But you absolutely must include the collation and annotation of the lost postscripts. If you miss even one, I'll punish you by making you play ten more games with me."

Xu Chengjun stood up, bowed, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Xie. I will go back and organize Qin Guan's materials and try to get the first draft out before the end of the year."

"go Go."

Old Zhu waved his hand and picked up another black chess piece, gesturing it on the chessboard.

How could this kid play chess like that?!
11 month 8 day.

The Chinese Literature Department's class meeting ended early. Xu Chengjun helped class monitor Liu Xiaoyue collect the registration forms before heading to Songzhuang Dormitory with Lin Yimin and a few others.

As soon as I stepped off the teaching building, I felt several eyes following me.

Some students from the department looked at him curiously, while some girls secretly cast glances his way.

Lin Yimin patted him on the shoulder and joked, "Chengjun, you're now a 'literary star' at Fudan University. People stare at you wherever you go!"

Xu Chengjun smiled and waved his hand, but in his heart he remembered what Su Manshu had said that morning: "Don't always bury yourself in writing, talk to your classmates more."

Now it really came true. Discussing topics and helping organize materials with everyone was much more lively than staying alone in the dormitory.

But I'm such a grown man!

Do I need you to teach me?
Back in the dormitory, Zhou Haibo was arguing with Hu Zhi about whether Huang Siyuan should have sacrificed himself in the end, while holding a clipping of "Red Silk". Cheng Yongxin was flipping through a copy of "Foreign Literature Trends" that he had just borrowed, and Li Jihai was writing a letter back to his hometown.

Xu Chengjun chatted with them for a while about the recruitment of new members for the Wave Literature Society. Seeing that it was getting dark outside the window, he made an excuse that he still had a manuscript to revise, and after washing up, he took his transistor radio and went up to the balcony.

This radio was bought with funds pooled together by everyone in the dormitory, with Xu Chengjun contributing a little extra.

The reason given was, "I want to be able to listen to the news and the weather forecast at night."

Actually, I was hoping that everyone would help out with "the wave" and that I could get some benefits for the guys.

Everyone disagreed at first.

However, Xu Chengjun produced his red silk royalty statement.

The silence suddenly became deafening.

He had just turned on the radio and tuned it when he heard the familiar sound of a bicycle bell coming from downstairs.

It's Su Manshu's Forever brand; the bicycle bell is always crisper than others.

But perhaps that's only true for him.

Peeking down, I saw her standing at the entrance of Songzhuang, clutching a cloth bag in her hand, looking up at the second-floor balcony.

Xu Chengjun quickly lowered his voice and called out, "Manshu!"

Su Manshu's eyes lit up when she heard the voice, and she held up the cloth bag and waved it: "I brought you some multigrain steamed buns that my mom made, and ten of your poems that I just copied down. You said you wanted to show them to the students in the literature club..."

Before he could finish speaking, the lights in the dormitory hallway suddenly went out.

The lights in Fudan University dormitories are turned off promptly at 10 p.m. every night, leaving only the balconies lit by moonlight.

"The hallway lights are off, I'm coming down now."

"Don't come down! You can't get down!"

Xu Chengjun was a little helpless, but then he saw Su Manshu take something out of her cloth bag and wave it around. It was a tin whistle. "You can hear me when I blow the whistle, right? I'll leave this with Master Wang at the gatehouse later. You can pick it up first thing tomorrow morning."

As he spoke, he blew a short whistle, the clear sound particularly distinct in the night.

Xu Chengjun smiled and agreed. Just as he was about to say a few more words, he saw Su Manshu take two steps toward the reception room, then turn back and look at him. After hesitating for a moment, she suddenly called out, "Xu Chengjun, I want to hear your voice. Could you... call me from the public phone booth downstairs when it's convenient for you?"

Xu Chengjun felt a warmth in his heart and quickly said, "It's convenient now! I'll go down right away!"

He put on his coat in the dark, said goodbye to his roommate, and ran down the stairs.

The light in the guardhouse was still on, and Mr. Wang was hunched over the table reading a newspaper. Seeing him in such a hurry, he smiled and pointed to the door: "Student Su just put her things here. She said if you come down, she'll let you call her house. The number is written on a piece of paper."

Xu Chengjun took the note, which had Su Manshu's neat handwriting and a small telephone drawing on it.

He took the note and ran towards the public phone booth at the entrance of Songzhuang.

He roughly estimated the time it would take Su Manshu to get home.

About five minutes later, when the call connected, there was still some static. Su Manshu's voice came through immediately, with barely concealed joy: "Why did you come down so quickly? Didn't you say the dorm lights were off?"

"Even in the dark, you can find your way."

Xu Chengjun said with a smile, "I just saw you on the balcony and thought I should come down and call you right away."

Su Manshu paused, seemingly smiling with her head down, and after a while said softly, "Today at the library, I saw several boys wearing Dacron shirts, and they all thought it was you."

Isn't it hilarious? You were clearly revising your manuscript in the Chinese Literature Department building, so how did you end up in the Social Sciences section?

"And another thing,"

She added, "My mom cooked Wuxi-style braised pork ribs today. While I was eating them, I thought, 'If only you were here. You said last time that you like meat that's a little sweet...'"

"The class meeting just ended, and my roommate and I were walking back when I heard someone humming 'Waiting for You to Return to the North Village.' I thought it was you, so I chased after them to see, but it wasn't you..."

She chattered on about her daily life, never mentioning the words "I miss you," but every sentence revolved around him.

Xu Chengjun listened quietly, his fingers lightly tapping on the glass of the phone booth. Suddenly, he heard her ask, "Xu Chengjun, will you miss me?"

Xu Chengjun held the receiver, softening his voice: "I think of you sometimes."

"Hmph!" Su Manshu's voice carried a hint of coquettishness. "Just occasionally?"

“Often, occasionally,” Xu Chengjun added, a smile involuntarily creeping onto his lips.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by Su Manshu's soft laughter, like the sound of wind chimes: "That's all you ever say! I thought you were going to tell me how much you missed me..."

"Then I'll tell you now."

Xu Chengjun said earnestly, "From the moment you helped me straighten my collar this morning, to seeing you on the balcony just now, and now listening to you speak, I've been thinking about you every single moment."

Su Manshu's voice suddenly softened: "Actually... me too. But you have a lot of things to do tomorrow, so we can't talk for too long. How about we talk for another five minutes?"

Xu Chengjun glanced at the wall clock in the phone booth; the hands had just passed 10:30. He smiled and said, "Why only five minutes? Master Wang said this phone booth closes at 10:30, and we talked until he came to kick us out."

"It's so expensive!"

But it wasn't too bad, because the pricing standard for public telephone booths in 1979 was not uniform across the country.

In Shanghai, public telephones cost 4 cents for every 3 minutes.

Of course, there are also systems like Qingdao that use spatial distance to tiered pricing.

The wind slipped in through the cracks in the phone booth, carrying with it the longings of those nearby.

Su Manshu talked about the library tomorrow, saying that she wanted to discuss an economics paper with him, and that she would take him to eat pork ribs and rice cakes on Nanjing Road.

Just then, the light in the phone booth suddenly flickered, and Mr. Wang's voice came from outside: "Student, it's time to close!"

"I'll hang up now."

Su Manshu's voice carried a hint of reluctance, "Remember to get the steamed buns, they won't taste good if they get cold."

"understood."

Xu Chengjun agreed, but didn't hang up. "Manshu, wait a little longer."

He heard her hum in response, and the ticking of her wall clock came from the background.

After a few seconds, he said softly, "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow." Su Manshu's voice was full of laughter.

After hanging up the phone, Xu Chengjun felt the note in his pocket.

The moonlight fell on him, like a gentle veil. As he walked toward his dormitory, he could hear the cicadas chirping in the distance, their sounds mingling with his sweet thoughts.

With the recent publication of three papers, the inaugural issue of Wave Magazine is nearing completion, allowing him to refocus his time on writing.

He was thinking about it on his way back.

What should I write about in my new novel?

How about writing about love?

(End of this chapter)