My era, 1979!

Chapter 157 The man is Japanese.
Xu Chengjun has been back from Nanjing for two days.

In the past few days, the focus of discussion among students at the school has shifted to a German.

Günter Grass.

A pink poster bearing the signature "Department of Foreign Languages" attracted a small group of people to gather in front of the bulletin boards of the Chinese Department and the German Department.

The words “Günter Grass, a writer from the Federal Republic of Germany, was invited to the school for academic exchange” were poked and wrinkled by his fingers.

The parenthetical note "internationally renowned writer" gradually evolved into a more impactful statement when circulated privately.

"I heard he won the Nobel Prize in Literature!"

The Nobel Prize?
The highest hall of literature?

The news spread like tea leaves being poured into warm water, slowly creating ripples in a small area.

Lu Xinhua had just borrowed a bound volume of "World Literature" from the library, but after flipping through it until her fingertips were black, she still couldn't find the name "Glass". So she had to go and ask Professor Wang, who teaches modern literary history.

"He was a very famous writer in West Germany, but we haven't translated any of his works here."

Professor Wang adjusted his glasses and pulled a yellowed foreign language book from his drawer. "I heard he wrote 'The Tin Drum,' but I can't really say what it's about."

Lu Xinhua muttered to himself, "Foreigners who can win the Nobel Prize are definitely much better at literature than domestic literature. I have to find a way to get to them."

After graduating from Fudan University in 81, Lu Xinhua saved up a sum of money thanks to the considerable income and social influence brought by "The Wounded".

What was this money used for?
Of course, I'd study in the US at my own expense!

After receiving her Master of Arts degree in California in August 1988, she settled in Los Santos, USA.

Become a beautiful chicken-themed Chinese-American writer.

Aside from his injuries, he has no other reliable literary works.

Those who are just trying to make money don't count.

The atmosphere in the German language teaching and research section was more lively.

Several young teachers huddled in the office flipping through the biography sent by the West German Embassy in China. Next to the "Günter Grass" typed out on the typewriter, they could only manage a brief note: "Born in 1927, skilled in novels and poetry."

Teacher Zhang, who had just been retained by the school, couldn't help but mutter, "They haven't even read the works; how am I supposed to ask them questions?"

The old professor waved his hand, saying, "It's already difficult enough to meet a living, famous Western writer. Since 1976, the number of Western literary figures who have given lectures at Fudan University can be counted on one hand."

The students' discussions revealed more complex emotions.

Some people, driven by curiosity, inquired everywhere about "what the Nobel Prize in Literature winners look like."

Students majoring in foreign languages, especially German, felt even more apprehensive. They borrowed West German original books from their classmates to cram for vocabulary while worrying, "What if I can't understand what they're saying?"

Lin Xiaoyan, a female student from the class of '78, wrote in her diary: "I heard that only 100 people are allowed into the lecture, and you need a pass from the department to get an admission ticket. Everyone is wondering if this Mr. Grass will be as great as Goethe and Schiller, whom we studied?"

The most anxious people were the department's student leaders.

They repeatedly checked the attendance list, reserved the third row of the lecture hall as "faculty seats," and even borrowed an old-fashioned tape recorder.

I was afraid of missing important information, so I organized it into notes afterward.

"Don't mention the 'Nobel Prize' to outsiders."

The department head specifically instructed, "It might have a negative impact, but he is indeed a major figure in the Western literary world; we cannot afford to be negligent."

However, news of the Nobel laureate had already spread like wildfire.

The day before the lecture, several students from the German Department finally managed to borrow a mimeographed copy of the illustration for "The Flounder" from a classmate at Shanghai International Studies University.

The distorted lines of the figures on the screen left them bewildered, none of them able to decipher the deeper meaning, yet they still carefully put it into their notebooks.

"Whether you understand it or not, it's always good to listen."

Clutching the hard-won admission ticket, Lu Xinhua felt a mixture of curiosity about the unknown and a secret expectation of "connecting with the world."

The osmanthus flowers on campus have quietly bloomed, and their fragrance wafts over the bulletin board.

The edges of the pink poster were curled up, but the lettering on it was still clear.

No one knew what this unfamiliar writer would talk about in his lecture, nor could they say whether he was a "Nobel laureate," but in this vague expectation lay the most basic yearning of Fudan University's teachers and students for the outside world in 1979.

But Xu Chengjun knew that in China in 1979.

Günter Grass's works were still in the pre-dissemination era.

Although his visit to China did not result in the circulation of his texts, it was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, stirring up the Chinese literary world's attention to Western modernism.

This cultural encounter, occurring without any translation, reflects the difficult beginnings of China's dialogue with world literature in the early stages of reform and opening up, and also laid the groundwork for the later widespread dissemination of Grass's works in China.

This Nazi, who had participated in Hitler's Youth and Boys, offered his critique and reflection on Nazi history.

It shocked the Chinese literary world at the time.

Professor Ye Tingfang recalled that after listening to the reading of "The Flounder," he was "both shocked by its avant-garde narrative and unable to conduct an in-depth analysis due to the lack of textual comparison."

"Chengjun, are you going to that Glass lecture?" Lin Yimin was still in his dormitory looking through the newly mimeographed sample copy of "The Wave".

Xu Chengjun: "Go ahead, the foreigner I knew gave me an invitation, I have to go even if I don't want to."

"A little foreigner?" Zhou Haibo's eyes lit up.

"Male and female?"

"It's a man, and he's Japanese."

"Tch~" "The Japanese!" The whole dorm was speechless with disappointment.

"But there was also a blonde woman."

"Hey!" "Brother Xu!" "What is it?!" Suddenly, the dorm room was filled with stares again.
"What the hell could it be like? Just human!" Xu Chengjun rolled his eyes at his brothers, annoyed.

"Damn, so stingy!"

"Be careful, or I'll tell your sister-in-law!"

Hu Zhi, who was standing to the side, was unusually serious: "I heard that the scope of this lecture is very limited, with only a few dozen people. Professors and German students make up a large part of it, and there are very few places left for us."

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it. I heard that this 'glass' thing is basically not translated into Chinese. Since it's in German and Polish, you won't understand anything there."

"He does know a little English!"

Cheng Yongxin patted Xu Chengjun on the shoulder: "Hey, Jun-ge, our dorm has appointed you to represent 201 at the 'meeting' with Comrade Glass. You'd better do your best!"

"Order!"

Your 'great benefactor' from your past life is now calling you 'brother,' so why can't you be a little more polite?
Xu Chengjun had just returned from a visit to the military region and hadn't had time to tidy up the house yet.

Let's tidy up a bit.

Then I saw a bulging brown paper bag hanging on the wire behind the door.

These are letters from readers forwarded from the department's mailroom; there are quite a few at a glance.

"Thanks, guys!"

"Well, what can you expect when there's a great writer in the house?"

During this period, he received sack after sack of letters from his readers.

It has taken up a lot of public space.

Fortunately, Xu Chengjun was well-known and generous, so he got along quite well with the dormitory staff.

Everyone was happy to help him carry the letter back.

Just take up a little space, that's fine!
He threw his backpack onto the bed, tore open the paper bag, and poured out the letters. Colorful envelopes were scattered all over the table: there were manuscript paper envelopes with "Shanghai Textile Factory" printed on them, simple envelopes made from student-used grid notebooks, and a small kraft paper envelope tied with a red string, the handwriting on it so delicate it looked like it had been drawn.

Xu Chengjun picked up a few letters at random and opened them. Some asked about the plot of the sequel to "Red Silk". One soldier wrote in a letter, "After reading your novel, I carry it in my pocket every day."

When Xu Chengjun turned to the third letter, he paused, stunned.

The envelope was signed "Li Shuqi" and addressed to "Nanjing West Road Department Store". This was the sixth envelope he had received this month.

The first few letters were just asking about literature, such as "How can I write about homesickness in a way that is as moving as 'Red Silk'?"

What kind of talent does it take to write a piece like "The Barn"?

The latest letter, however, was unusually thick. When I opened it, I found five pages of paper inside, along with a black and white photograph.

The girl in the photo has braids and is standing in front of a department store counter, her eyes crinkling with laughter.

So, you're pulling this stunt?
Tempting cadres? Influencing the revolution?
But you have to admit, this girl is actually quite pretty.

"Comrade Xu, I've watched 'The Fitting Mirror' three times this month, and every time I see the part where 'the person in the mirror becomes more and more unfamiliar,' I can't help but cry."

Li Shuqi's handwriting is small and dense, with the ink slightly bleeding through the paper. "I sell fabric at the counter, and every day I watch the people come and go. I always feel that they are like the characters in 'The Fitting Mirror,' hiding unspoken thoughts. Last week, an old lady came to buy red fabric, saying she wanted to make a funeral shroud for her grandson on the front lines. I remembered your writing about Huang Siyuan, and secretly cut her half a foot of extra fabric."

Xu Chengjun continued reading. The letter also described her daily life: getting up at five in the morning to queue for soy milk, eating cabbage and tofu for two cents at the canteen at noon, and reading his novels by the lamp when she got home in the evening. Even when her sister borrowed a magazine from her, she would fold up the pages with his articles first.

On the last page, she also asked, "Comrade Xu, next time you come to Nanjing West Road, could you please stop by my shop? I'll save the best floral fabric for you to have a new shirt made."

Xu Chengjun placed the letter on the table and then picked up the previous letters from Li Shuqi to compare them.

From the first letter addressed to "Dear Teacher Xu," to the later "Teacher Chengjun," and now to "If you have time," the tone has become increasingly warm, and the letter paper has been changed from rough paper to textured manuscript paper.

He couldn't help but laugh, leaning back in his chair and thinking: These days, being a writer really does have some "special perks".

These days, literature is all the rage, and a well-known writer like him is very popular. Even a respectable, cultured, and knowledgeable woman is so sought after.

He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he were a smooth-talking bad guy...!
Just then, the dormitory door was pushed open, and Lin Yimin had just returned from washing up.

He glanced at the letters on the table, leaned over to flip through them, picked up Li Shuqi's letter, and exclaimed, "Wow, this girl is persistent! Six letters a month, more frequent than I write to my girlfriend!"

"Don't talk nonsense, they asked a literature question."

"When did you get a boyfriend?"

"Ugh, that one from Huazhong Normal University last time."

Xu Chengjun put the letter away.

The photo, however, was leaked. The girl stood in front of the counter, with colorful fabrics hanging behind her, much like the "palette of life" described in "The Fitting Mirror".

Lin Yimin squeezed next to him and nudged his arm: "What literature question? I think she's interested in you! Didn't you see her ask if you were going to Nanjing West Road? It's obvious she wants to meet up!"

He picked up the other letters and flipped through them. “Look at this one, the female worker in the textile factory said she wanted to knit you a sweater; and this one, a student from the foreign language department wants to borrow your notes.”

Cheng Jun, your popularity is even higher than the school heartthrob!

"What, I'm not considered the school heartthrob?"

Lin Yimin glanced at the dog's handsome, angular face and simply didn't bother to say anything.

"You better watch your step! If Su Manshu suffers, I'll fight you to the death!"

"Relax! Do you think I'm really going to Nanjing West Road?"

Zhou Haibo leaned closer: "If you're not going, just let me know?"

"Would you like my head?"

"Okay, give me your hands too, it's a fully automatic writing machine!"

As he spoke, he suddenly sat up: "This seems promising! Isn't this just like science fiction?"

"Chengjun, I think I have a talent for science fiction!"

"what?"

Hu Zhi grinned mischievously: "I think it's a good idea, Gouya, go ahead and write it! I support you!"

Zhou Haibo laughed, "Alright, you monkey, trying to use that 'praise to kill' tactic, huh!"

That evening, Xu Chengjun sat under the lamp and wrote back to Li Shuqi, carefully choosing his words: "Thank you for the photos, and thank you for sharing the story. The 'strangeness' in 'The Fitting Mirror' is actually a feeling everyone experiences. Your thoughtfulness in giving the old lady an extra half-foot of cloth is more touching than any scene in the novel."

After finishing the letter, he sealed it and then picked up the letters from other readers—

Some asked him to write a sequel, some chatted with him about life, and some even sent him their own poems.

Xu Chengjun carefully put the letters away and placed them on the top shelf of the drawer.

The luckiest thing for a writer is not fame, but the ability to become someone's "confessional," to encounter countless unfamiliar "lives" through words.

Lin Yimin lay in bed, watching Chengjun's retreating figure as he wrote the letter, and called out with a smile, "Chengjun, keep these safe! Maybe you'll become a great writer someday, and these letters will be antiques!"
-
The iron gate at the entrance of the alley was damp with morning dew, and it creaked loudly when pushed open.

Inside is a narrow alley that can only accommodate two people side by side. The blue brick walls of the stone gates on both sides are covered with dark green ivy. When the wind blows, the leaves fall rustling onto the clothesline, and the scent of soap fills the alley.

Four families lived in a shikumen house. The staircase was in the middle of the house, and it made a "thump-thump" sound when you stepped on it. The bedrooms, side rooms, and pavilion rooms were crammed together. The kitchen was in the corner of the courtyard, and the three families shared a single water tap.

As evening falls, the crisp sound of enamel basins colliding, along with the fumes from someone stir-frying vegetables, fills the alleyway with a lively, bustling atmosphere.

This is a common sight on Chongqing North Road in Shanghai, and it's also where Su Manshu grew up.

However, she lives alone in a shikumen (stone-gate) house.
That afternoon, the alley suddenly became lively.

On the second floor, Granny Zhang was picking vegetables by the window when she caught sight of a group of people entering the alley. The girl leading the group was wearing a light pink dress, had shoulder-length hair, and was carrying a wicker box. She was none other than Su Manshu's cousin, Shen Ningzhu.

"Ningzhu is back!"

Grandma Zhang had a loud voice, and when she called out, the Li family's daughter-in-law and Uncle Wang from next door poked their heads out of their doors. "This girl went to Nanjing to study last year. I haven't seen her for a year, and she's grown even more beautiful!"

He was also a top student at Nanjing University.

Shen Ningzhu smiled and agreed, then was pulled upstairs by Su Manshu. The rattan box brushed against the stair railing, stirring up some dust.

"Sister Manshu, your staircase is still the same as always. I even tripped and fell when I came here last time!"

"Who told you to be so clumsy?"

Su Manshu pushed open her bedroom door, and a faint scent of jasmine wafted out.

It was a window screen that Shen Yuru had just changed that morning, with two white jasmine flowers sewn into the corners.

The room was simply but neatly furnished. A blue tablecloth covered the mahogany square table, on which was placed freshly brewed green tea, with a few tea leaves at the bottom of the cup.

Shen Yuru was sitting in a rattan chair embroidering Suzhou embroidery when she saw Shen Ningzhu come in. She quickly put down her needlework and said, "Ningzhu, you're here. Please sit down. You must be tired from your journey."

As soon as Shen Ningzhu sat down, Su Manshu pulled her into the inner room.

This room is Su Manshu's bedroom, furnished with a single bed. On the bookshelf beside the bed are "Principles of Economics" and several poetry collections. The most eye-catching item is the photo frame on the corner of the table.

Inside is a photo of Su Manshu and Xu Chengjun on the Fudan University campus. Xu Chengjun is holding a guitar, and Su Manshu is standing next to him, smiling with her eyes crinkled.

"Sister, who is this?"

Shen Ningzhu, with her sharp eyes, pointed at the photo frame and teased, "I didn't see you display this when I came back last year. You look quite dashing. Is this the 'powerful Xu Chengjun' you mentioned?"

Su Manshu didn't hide or dodge. Instead, she picked up the photo frame and gently stroked it, a shallow dimple curving her lips: "It's him. We're dating now."

"Oh, I thought you were going to try to fool me!"

As soon as she said that, Shen Ningzhu's eyes lit up instantly, and she leaned over and grabbed her arm: "I knew it! Last time my aunt called my mom and said you were always going to Fudan University and helping people organize the literature club's materials, I guessed it was him! Tell me, how did you two confirm your relationship?"

"We just got to know each other slowly and found we were compatible."

Su Manshu put the photo frame back on the corner of the table, and didn't mince words with her closest cousin: "Do you understand the concept of telepathy?"

"How could I possibly understand that! You know I want to date, but your feudal uncle says that poor boys aren't good enough for our noble family!"

"Please, it's the new China!"

Su Manshu chuckled, "You're just making fun of your uncle!"

"I'm telling the truth!"

Shen Ningzhu suddenly noticed an envelope hidden in the corner. Seeing Su Manshu turn around to tidy up her bedding, she quietly crept over to it.

Looking at the envelope, I couldn't help but read it aloud: "Spring cherry blossoms, autumn osmanthus, winter frost and snow, the scenery of each year is vibrant, but nothing compares to you by my side."

Su Manshu's face flushed red instantly.

"What are you doing, you brat!"

"Hey! Let me see! Sis! Stop hitting me! Hey, this won't do! Hahahaha, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"You know you're wrong?"

"Okay!" Shen Ningzhu looked at Su Manshu with teary eyes. She was short and didn't like to exercise, so she was hugged tightly by the 172cm tall Su Manshu.

A large expanse of snow-white skin was revealed, which was quite pleasing to the eye.

"Sis, am I pretty?"

"Get lost, you little fox!"

"But he really wrote a great poem! I'll give it to you~ No wonder he's a great poet! I've heard so much about 'Xu Chengjun' at Nanjing University~"

Su Manshu, not to be outdone, glanced sideways at her cousin, displaying the air of a high-ranking official, and said, "It wasn't written for me, it was written for you?"

"Wow!"

Shen Ningzhu didn't take it to heart, slapping her thigh and laughing, "Sister Manshu, you've struck gold! He can write poetry and he's so caring, he's much better than those guys at our school who only talk big! By the way, has he met your aunt and uncle yet?"

"They just came to my house for dinner this month."

Su Manshu couldn't help but laugh, recalling how Xu Chengjun had nervously held the Wuxi clay figurine gift box upside down. "My mom specially made his favorite braised pork ribs."

"So smoothly?"
"Shen Ningzhu looked on with envy, "I thought Uncle would test him for a long time, after all, you are the family's precious daughter."

"Your uncle didn't see him; he's the one who's objecting!"

"Sigh, my uncle is different from my father. My uncle is just reluctant to part with you, while my father is just a feudal superstitious man!"

“My dad says that to judge whether someone is good or bad, you shouldn’t look at what they say, but what they do.” Su
Manshu picked up the poetry collection on the table, turned to the page with a bookmark, on which Xu Chengjun had marked the important points for her. "My parents see everything he marks."

As the two were talking, Shen Yuru's voice came from outside the door: "Manshu, Ningzhu, come out and have some snacks!"

Su Manshu pulled Shen Ningzhu out. As they passed the living room, Shen Ningzhu caught a glimpse of a military green kettle on the coffee table.

The bottle even has the character "Xu" engraved on it, and then she started teasing, "Sis, did he give you this kettle too? It's a treasure, isn't it?"

Su Manshu didn't refute, but just smiled and handed her a piece of osmanthus cake: "Eat yours quickly, it won't taste good if it gets cold."

During dinner, Shen Ningzhu was still asking Shen Yuru, "Aunt, when is Xu Chengjun coming next time? I'd like to ask him for advice and help my sister make a decision!"

Shen Yuru smiled and glanced at Su Manshu, then picked up a piece of sweet and sour pork ribs for Shen Ningzhu: "Alright, stop teasing your sister. Young people are dating, we shouldn't interfere."

"Oh my, you don't know my sister's personality? When we were kids, which boy in the alley didn't make her cry!"

"I'm innocent! I don't even have a boyfriend!"

Shen Yuru smiled and shook her head.

After dinner, Shen Ningzhu and Su Manshu squeezed onto the same bed. Shen Ningzhu hugged her arm and whispered, "Sister, when you're with him, do you feel especially secure?"

Su Manshu recalled Xu Chengjun's resolute words, "I'll be there for you from now on," and the way he shielded her from the crowd. She nodded gently, "Yes, with him, I have nothing to fear."

"Then you must take good care of yourselves,"

Shen Ningzhu patted her hand, "Next time he comes, I'll keep an eye on him for you. If he dares to bully you, I'll be the first to get back at him!"

Su Manshu laughed and playfully punched her: "You always have so many ideas!"

"But sis, how come your breasts are so perky? What's your secret?"

"Secret recipe? Your butt is getting prettier and prettier, Zhu Zhu!"

"Hehe! Comrade Xu Chengjun is so lucky! Look at that fair skin, long legs, and a nice chest!"

"Let me experience it for him first!"

"you!"

In an instant, the room was filled with an irrepressible spring atmosphere, as two stunning beauties awakened the warm ambiance within.

(End of this chapter)