My era, 1979!

Chapter 166 I Don't Believe in the Echo of Thunder
Xu Chengjun continued, "In front of my teacher and fellow students, I will say a few words without any shame: I believe that true literature is never grown in a greenhouse."

The current controversy is precisely an opportunity for *The Wave* to take deeper root—as readers delve deeper into its pages, they will naturally understand that what I, Xu Chengjun, want is never to 'pander to anyone,' but to give Chinese campus literature its own roots and its own soul.”

What's more, black and red are also red.

The more controversy there is, the more people want to see the wave.

As for the pressure at the school level.

With these people overseeing and protecting him, what does Xu Chengjun have to fear? Even the school leaders might not be happy with the current situation.

Fudan University might be lacking in modern literary creation.

But when it comes to politics and the economy, they are no less capable than others.

Looking at Xu Chengjun's composed demeanor, Zhang Peiheng suddenly laughed and patted him on the shoulder: "Good lad, you see things more clearly than us old guys. Alright, you know what you're doing, so we won't worry about it."

Huang Lin also breathed a sigh of relief: "That's right, you little rascal, you wouldn't let yourself be wronged. Focus on running the magazine well, and if you need any help, just let us know."

The term "little slicker" was given to him by Zhu Bangwei.

He said he was young but was just an old man.

Zhu Dongrun then spoke, his voice carrying the gentleness of an elder: "Cheng Jun is right. In the end, literature is judged by the works themselves."

this time.

Xu Chengjun also didn't pay much attention to the trends in the literary world.

A while ago, Zhou Ming, Su Zhong, and Gong Liu all wrote to him or called to inquire about his recent situation.

to be honest.

Everyone wanted to offer him some support.

Xu Chengjun asked about his recent situation and tried to get on his good side, but then smiled and declined.

Enraged, Zhou Ming cursed, "Those bastards deserve to be cursed! You're not tough enough!"

Even Wang Zengqi, who was far away in Beijing, had heard of him, as he is recognized by later generations as a "representative figure of contemporary Chinese literature".

He naturally liked Xu Chengjun's inaugural address very much.

He expressed his appreciation for "The Wave" and even gave him an essay to publish in the next issue of the magazine.

—From "Orchard Notes"

This is undoubtedly the highest level of support.

This work continues his early works' deep affection for rural life and also shows traces of his later essay collections such as "Puqiao Collection".

What amused Xu Chengjun the most was this man's writing attitude—"killing two birds with one stone."

By early December, the controversy surrounding Xu Chengjun had gradually subsided.

Literature flourished in this era.

1979 was a year of vigorous revival for literary journals.

To put it bluntly, there are many people who go astray, and Xu Chengjun is one of them, but he is still not the most conspicuous.

Established publications such as Harvest, Script, and Stars have resumed publication, while new publications such as Flower City, Contemporary, and Qingming have been launched.

In late November, *Huacheng* magazine launched a special issue on "Scar Literature" for 1979, featuring works by writers such as Liu Xinwu and Lu Xinhua, which promoted social reflection on historical trauma. *Wenyi Bao* resumed publication that same month, resuming its function of literary criticism and theoretical discussion, providing a platform for intellectual exchange in the literary world.

Creative field.

Zhang Jie's essay, "Where Did the Girl Flying a Kite Go?", was published in "Beijing Literature and Art".

This work, with its delicate touch, depicts childhood memories and the changes of the times, continuing her exploration of the beauty of humanity in "The Child from the Forest" (1978). Zhang Jie's writing broke through the political narrative of mainstream literature at the time, turning to the writing of individual emotions and life experiences, paving the way for the development of later women's literature.

Ba Jin's "Random Thoughts" was serialized in Hong Kong's Ta Kung Pao starting in December 1978, and he entered his creative peak in 1979.

Although the first volume of "Random Thoughts" was published by Joint Publishing (Hong Kong) in December, its core chapters, such as "Remembering Xiao Shan" and "Poisonous Weed Disease," were published successively at the end of November this year, shaking the literary world with their profound self-repentance and criticism of Bibi.

Some busybodies even started gossiping behind his back, wondering if Xu Chengjun had some special relationship with Ba Jin.
I just gave the inscription.

He then released another piece of work to divert attention from Xu Chengjun!

suspicious!

Even Xu Chengjun's first literary work, "The Dressing Mirror," was published in "Harvest," edited by Ba Jin!

Too deliberate!
-
The small bungalow of the editorial office of "Today".

When Munk leaned closer, he heard him mutter the line, "Is the true meaning of openness to lose yourself in order to flatter others?" His voice carried an unexpected depth.

"This Xu Chengjun is like a hothead who hasn't had his edges smoothed out."

Munk smiled and reached out to take the magazine away, but Bei Dao held him back.

He was staring at the line "Maintaining roots is not about being conservative, innovating is not about forgetting one's origins," his eyes shining with a familiar light, like the first ray of dawn they saw in the dark night when they secretly printed "Today" back then.

At that time, he was still a passionate young man.

It was far from the point where they would be categorized as "public intellectuals" in later generations.

Before speaking, Bei Dao laid out the inaugural issue on the wooden table covered in mimeograph ink. He drew a line next to the inscription "Use the pen as a blade, take truth as the tide" with his pen before turning to look at Yang Lian and Shu Ting, who had gathered around him.

"When we started Today, wasn't it because we were afraid of losing the 'truth'? We were afraid of learning from the West and losing our own voice, afraid of writing about the wounds and turning it into a sobbing tone, afraid that even the word 'human' would lose its backbone?"

Xu Chengjun, on the campus of Fudan University, wrote down what we wanted to say in the inaugural issue's message.

He picked up his pen and wrote quickly on the scrap paper. His handwriting, like his poems, was thin and strong yet powerful: "Nowadays, how many people in the literary world hold Marquez's books and forget the metaphors and allegories of the Book of Songs, and learn Faulkner's fragments and lose the backbone of Chinese, calling it 'openness', but in reality, they have uprooted themselves to flatter others."

Xu Chengjun said that "staying true to one's roots" does not mean being stagnant, but rather knowing who you are.

Just like when we write obscure poetry, we don't imitate Neruda's passion or Eliot's obscurity; we simply write what we see as "the night has given me black eyes"—that's what makes it our own.

But in fact, the origin of modern poetry is not in China.

Most of them are still derived from reference.

However, with the development of the times, classical poetry has lost its fertile ground for development due to its bottlenecks and creative environment.

Style is just a form.

What kind of stories and works will be written?

It depends on the writer's state of mind.

Shu Ting pointed to Xu Chengjun's three poems and said softly, "His three poems are also quite flavorful, and they are somewhat different from our style."

Bei Dao: "I don't know why Xu Chengjun has such a varied writing style."

Yang Lian: "Could he be a madman too?"

Shu Ting: "Who else is it?"

Yang Lian gestured angrily towards the window, where Gu Cheng was wearing only a thin shirt, gazing at the Milky Way in the chilly autumn wind.

At this time of year, even standing by the window in the capital, one could feel the autumn wind making one's whole body ache.

He truly deserves to be called the fierce man who split Mount Hua with an axe.

Bei Dao nodded, his fingertips tracing Xu Chengjun's "Pure Me," and recited, "The wind doesn't want to be anything other than the wind," before suddenly smiling.

"He might be crazy."

"However, this kid understands the duty of literature."

Literature is not a fashion show; it's not about wearing a 'modern' coat to make it sophisticated. It's a seed that must be planted in its own soil to sprout.

We publish "Today" in grassroots journals, while he publishes "The Tide" on campuses. Our paths are different, but our hearts are connected—we both want literature to speak in a human language, to speak the language of the Chinese people.

He paused, recalling the day last year when his mimeographed manuscripts were investigated in the alley, and his tone became more somber: "It's difficult to run a magazine, especially if you want to run a 'real' magazine."

He also wanted to publish a "true" magazine.

I wonder if the world today can be influenced by the small wings of the "wave" and find some correct path.

Munk suddenly asked, "Then tell me, how long can his 'The Wave' last?"

Bei Dao placed "The Wave" and "Today" side by side.

"How long it lasts is not important; what matters is that it shone."

He picked up his pen and wrote a line on the title page of "The Tide": "Those who uphold truth are not alone, and those who follow the tide are not lost." Then he looked up and said to everyone.

"The latest issue of 'Today' magazine should be out this month, and it features Xu Chengjun's poems. We can at least get some of the attention."

Yang Lian curled his lip: "It's as if we've gilded his lily."

“Bei Dao, Shu Ting, Gu Cheng—which of these famous figures didn’t predate him?”

“In the field of literature, he has long surpassed us,” Shu Ting said without turning his head.

"Even when it comes to poetry, his poems are just as popular as ours right now."

The wind was still howling outside the window, but the kerosene lamp in the small house seemed exceptionally bright.

Looking at the line of words he had just written, Bei Dao suddenly recalled his state of mind when he wrote "Answer"—"I don't believe the sky is blue, I don't believe in the echo of thunder."

He wanted to forge his own path, a path that belonged to "Today" magazine itself.

And this moment.

Xu Chengjun's inaugural address is like another kind of "answer," directed at the trend of fawning over foreigners, at rigid arguments, and at all those who want to turn Chinese literature into a "Western copy."

He stated clearly, "I do not believe that true literature can grow from openness that has lost its roots."

He put "The Wave" into the tin box, piled it together with the mimeographed manuscript of "Today" and readers' letters, his fingertips touching the cold metal.

Another light has been lit, shining in the soil of the campus, shining in the pens of young people, and shining in the hearts of all those who still believe that "literature should tell the truth."
-
The end of April.

Xu Chengjun received a number of letters from relatives and friends in Anhui and Beijing.

There were apricot blossoms, Zhao Gang, and Xu Laoshi.

There's also Qian Ming, who is currently studying at Beijing Foreign Studies University.

When they were writing letters.

It is currently the seedling stage after winter wheat is sown.

In the vast fields of Fengyang, Anhui, the newly turned soil is brownish-red, and sparse wheat seedlings peek out from the soil, swaying gently in the cold wind.

What's different this year compared to previous years is—

Farmers no longer work in large groups as they did in previous years. Instead, they work in their own fields as family units, with some watering wheat seedlings and others repairing field ridges.

Earlier, in early October, Xu Chengjun had already sent letters to these friends and elders.

I explained my general situation and mailed some local specialties from Shanghai.

The road ahead is long.

The reply was only delivered in detail at this point.

Xu Chengjun opened Zhao Gang's letter first; it was simple and sincere.

He said, "Shanghai is so big, you should really check it out. I heard your school has electric lights, running water, and an auditorium that can show movies. I've never seen any of these rare things in my life. Study hard at school, and when you're successful, I'll come visit you in Shanghai. Oh, and I sent you two jars of homemade pickled vegetables. They're delicious with steamed buns."

He smiled wryly after reading it.

He has many ideas for the future, and he may need this simple and resolute man from northern Anhui to help him in the not-too-distant future.

Shanghai is so big, once you come here you can't leave.

Next came the apricot blossoms.

She said, “Recently, my mother has been trying to arrange a marriage for me, but I don’t really like it. I remember what you said, Brother Chengjun. I was thinking about whether I could go to the county town to learn weaving. My mother said that people who work hard in the fields shouldn’t think too much about it, and not everyone is as gifted as you. But I want to learn, and I would like to ask you for some advice.”

Xu Chengjun had told Xinghua and the villagers this before.

It can be considered a kind of collective side business.

From family workshops to small cooperatives.

In 1979, the "May 7th Service Cooperative" of the 853 Farm in Heilongjiang Province raised funds collectively to establish small workshops for quarrying, logging, and mirror making, with an annual output value of 16,000 yuan.

It can be considered a way to get rich, but I don't know if Mr. Xu listened to it.

As for Xinghua, his feelings were very complicated.

His appearance was like a comet that flashed by in Xujia Village, but it left a mark on the hearts of many people.

Having seen the beauty of orchids and jade trees, it's hard to appreciate the dirt, stones, and sand.

Xu Chengjun didn't know whether this was good or bad for Xinghua, but he would do his best to help her, just like he helped Zhao Gang. Whether she wanted to stay in Xujia Village to become a future agricultural or handicraft tycoon or wanted to try her luck in a big city, he would remember the girl who brought him water the moment she opened her eyes.

He also read Qian Ming's letter.

Interestingly, he studied Spanish at Beijing Foreign Studies University, and by chance, he recently obtained a Spanish version of "One Hundred Years of Solitude" and shared his insights with Xu Chengjun.

For example, the words "Aureliano," "rsula," and "Arcadio" that appear repeatedly in the Buendía family are spelled exactly the same in the original Spanish.

When reading it for the first time, I often got stuck: "Is this Aureliano a colonel or his son?"

But you'll gradually discover that this "repetitive chaos" is itself a kind of fun.

The repetition of Spanish letters is like a family's genetic code; repeating them too often can feel like chanting a cyclical incantation.

Finally, in his letter, he complained that Spanish was tedious and had many strange words, while Chinese was much more profound and extensive!
I also wished Xu Chengjun well in his literary achievements and asked him for several signed copies of "Red Silk".

After reading these letters, Xu Chengjun felt a complex mix of warmth, comfort, and resonance.

It has the tenderness of concern from fellow villagers, the touch of seeing others change because of my influence, and the steadfastness of aligning with the cultural understanding of my peers.

Echoes from this time and space gradually increased.

He came here.

It's all for the sake of change.

In early December, Xu Chengjun completed his basic courses for the first year of the Chinese Literature Department.

To the astonishment of the instructor, he completed the Chinese Literature major course exam with a near-perfect score.

He waved lightly to the teacher, leaving without a trace.

For the past three months, he has been intensively reviewing and learning his major courses.

Furthermore, the knowledge system of that era was not complex.

I showed off a lot in front of my classmates and lecturers.

Wu Xinchou, who lectures on the history of modern Chinese literature, sighed deeply: "No wonder he was Zhu Xi's student; such talent is extremely rare for our generation!"

"Absolutely! Those three months were more exciting than half your life!"

"No way, Wang Shuizhao, will you ever stop spouting that filthy mouth of yours?!"

"You can't even say you're capable?"

On December 8th, the 6th issue of "Today" was released, which included two poems by Xu Chengjun: "Writing Spring Poems" and "To You in the Old Days".

On December 12th, the second issue of "Qingming" was published amidst the anticipation of all readers, and the remaining parts of "Red Silk" will be serialized in this issue.

Xu Chengjun had just received a notification from Harvest magazine.

"The Mailbox of Hope" will also be published soon.

(End of this chapter)