My era, 1979!

Chapter 170 This child has a promising future, and so does Chinese literature.

Haiyan, Zhejiang.

The cold wind made the sycamore leaves at the entrance of the health center swirl.

Yu Hua took off his mask, which smelled of disinfectant, and found half a box of undelivered cotton balls still in the pocket of his white coat.

This was his second winter as a dentist, and his knuckles were already calloused from repeatedly gripping dental instruments.

But the annoyance in my heart was stronger than the smell of disinfectant.

Standing at the window of the health center looking at the street scene, he felt sad at the thought of having to guard this street for the rest of his life.

"Dr. Yu, are you off work?"

Old Wang at the registration desk poked his head out, holding a crumpled newspaper. "I heard the second issue of *Qingming* magazine is out, and there's a huge line outside the county Xinhua Bookstore for Xu Chengjun's article, 'Red Silk,' the second half! I remembered you love reading, so I just wanted to let you know."

Yu Hua's steps suddenly stopped.

A while ago, while he was studying in Ningbo, he happened to come across Kawabata Yasunari's "The Dancing Girl of Izu". He was captivated by the delicate descriptions of "the shyness in the dancer's eyes" and "the mountain mist drifting over the wooden clogs". He stayed in his dormitory at night, pondering "how to hide the characters' emotions in the details".

When his fellow resident doctor learned of his obsession with literature, he even advised him to give it up, saying, "I used to be a literature enthusiast too, and I also had literary daydreams. Your tomorrow is my today."

Yu Hua responded: "My tomorrow is not your today."

But to be honest, he was captivated by Kawabata Yasunari's delicate writing style.

Are there any authors in China capable of writing such works?

"Are we really here?" Yu Hua pressed, his voice tinged with an urgency he himself didn't realize.

"Someone just came back from the bookstore and said they'd be sold out if we didn't go soon!"

Yu Hua didn't say anything more. He took off his white coat and ran to the dormitory. He didn't even notice that his military green canvas bag bumped into the iron railing in the corridor with a "bang".

He changed into a clean blue cotton jacket, tucked his newly received 28 yuan salary into his pocket, and ran towards Xinhua Bookstore.

The streetlights had just come on, and their dim light fell on his mud-splattered rubber shoes. Yet, he felt like he was running faster than usual, as if he could catch up with something unseen if he went any faster.

That thing is called an ideal.

Sure enough, the line outside the bookstore stretched all the way to the end of the street. There were teachers wearing reading glasses, educated youth in work jackets, and women holding children, all muttering "Xu Chengjun" and "Red Silk." Yu Hua stood at the end of the line, his fingers unconsciously twisting the strap of his canvas bag. Suddenly, the words of the doctor he had shared a room with during his advanced studies flashed through his mind: "Stop daydreaming about literature. Your tomorrow is my today."

But he didn't want it that way—he had seen the people at the county cultural center, wandering around the courtyard with books every day, without having to smell disinfectant or see other people's contorted faces when they had toothaches; that was the kind of life he wanted.

"Five books left!"

The bookstore clerk's voice boomed, and the line surged forward instantly.

Yu Hua clenched the money in his hand, finally squeezed to the counter, and slapped two yuan and thirty cents on the glass: "I want a copy of 'Qingming'!"

When he received the magazine, he couldn't wait to open it and look for the three characters "Xu Chengjun".

Under the warm yellow streetlights, he leaned against the sycamore tree next to the bookstore, reading page by page, unaware that the wind was stinging his face.

Reading about Li Xiaoman hosting a TV program and Gu Daqiang saying "I'll wait for you to come back" on the platform, it seemed like even the wind was sweet.

Yu Hua's breathing slowed slightly, and he underlined the sentence "The suit skirt is a new style imported from Guangzhou" with his finger.

Kawabata Yasunari describes the shyness of a dancer as hidden in her eyes and brows; Xu Chengjun describes Li Xiaoman's suffering as hidden in the folds of her suit and skirt, "seemingly glamorous, but actually hiding unspoken words." This kind of writing, "using details to feign grievances," is very subtle.

When Ruan Wenxiao appeared, Yu Hua suddenly leaned against the sycamore tree.

Yu Hua recalled his days as a dentist, repeating the same routine of "extracting teeth and filling teeth" every day, like a spinning top being pressed onto a turntable. Wasn't he also being swept along by the times?

He suddenly realized that what Xu Chengjun was writing about was not war, but the fate of everyone—everyone is being pushed along, but there are always people who want to run towards the light.

The more he read, the heavier the magazine felt in his hands.

Upon seeing the ending line, "Xu Chengjun says, 'Death is not the end, forgetting is,'" Yu Hua's eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

He recalled the fragments he had written, which always revolved around "character traits," but Xu Chengjun preferred to write about "fate," putting the joys and sorrows of ordinary people into a period of forty years. There was Confucian "righteousness" and traditional "thoughts," like blending the rain of Jiangnan with the snow of the North. Compared to Kawabata Yasunari, it had more of the unique Chinese grandeur, gentleness and gravitas.

"This is hardly a war novel."

Yu Hua muttered to himself, his fingers repeatedly stroking the line "Steel guns can protect our homes, but they can't protect the souls of the departed," "This is about the fate of everyone."

The wind grew colder, but he didn't notice.

When he closed the book, he noticed a sycamore leaf had fallen next to the three characters "Xu Chengjun" on the cover. He carefully tucked the leaf into the book.

On his way to the health center, two thoughts kept running through his mind: one was, "I wish I could write a story like this," and the other was, "Do I really want to be a dentist for the rest of my life?"

When he passed by the county cultural center, he stopped and looked at the lights on in the window.

The people inside were probably reading or writing; they didn't need to smell disinfectant or handle dental instruments.

Yu Hua touched the book "Qingming" in his arms. The cover still carried his body heat. Suddenly, he felt less annoyed and more warm inside.

Back in his dorm, he stared at the word "dentist" for a while.

He didn't know when he would be able to write such a story, but he knew that from today onwards, he no longer wanted to be Ruan Wenxiao, who was swept along by the times. He wanted to be the one running towards the light, even if he was a little slower.

In late 1979, the nights in Haiyan were long and cold.
-
Tianjin.

Feng Jicai had just finished painting "Tianjin Scenery", and the paint was still wet.

He opened the book "Red Silk," intending to find "war scenes," but was amused by Xu Xiaomei's witty remark that she "wanted to be one of the Seven Fairies."
As a master of writing about the "local flavor of Tianjin", he understands the "truth in the hustle and bustle" best. The Xu family in "Red Silk" has Lu Xiulan's "shrewishness" and Xu Zhiguo's "pretending to be serious", just like neighbors in Tianjin hutongs, even more vivid than the "teahouse owner" he painted.

"This lively atmosphere!"

Feng Jicai sighed to his colleagues at the Writers' Association, "Look at this family, with laughter and tears. No matter how great the war, it can't compare to 'a mother patting her daughter's head'—that's true humanity!"

Dormitory for educated youth in Beijing.

Wang Xiaobo had just returned to Beijing from Yunnan, and his old luggage from when he was sent to the countryside was still piled up under his bed.

He had no expectations when he borrowed "Red Silk", but when he read Xu Chengjun's "China in 90 Years", he suddenly sat up on the hard bed.

As a "wild intellectual" who had read extensively by Sartre and Russell, he had seen many novels that "reflected on the past," but this was the first time he had seen someone dare to "predict the future" in 1979, and even combine "Confucian righteousness" with "technological imagination."

"That's a really wild idea!"

He disliked empty rhetoric, but Xu Chengjun's writing, "When China becomes strong in the future, no one will dare to bully us," without shouting slogans, made him feel excited; reading about Ruan Wenxiao's confusion reminded him of his own bewilderment when he was driving horses in Yunnan—"Why should people be pushed along by the times?"

Finally, he placed "Red Silk" under "History of Western Philosophy" and thought to himself, "When I write novels in the future, I must also have this spirit of 'daring to think and daring to write'."

Capital
Snow still clung to the locust trees in the government compound; Wang Meng had just finished grading manuscripts for People's Literature.

He pulled out the second issue of "Qingming" magazine from his briefcase, a gift from a colleague. The three characters "Xu Chengjun" on the cover reminded him of the amazement he felt half a year ago when he read "The Fitting Mirror." At the time, he had laughed, "This kid dares to write about mirrors as if they were Chinese fantasy." Now, flipping to "Red Silk," where Ruan Wenxiao asks, "In 1965 you helped us fight the United States, why are you fighting us now?", his pen slammed onto the manuscript paper.

"What a brilliant 'mirror view'!"

Wang Meng murmured to himself under the desk lamp, repeatedly scanning the section about "Vietnamese soldiers."

He wrote about the idealism in "A Young Man Came to the Organization Department" and understood the feeling of "humanity being twisted" in special times. However, Xu Chengjun dared to write about the "enemy" as confused and pitiful, without labeling or shouting slogans. It was as if he had moved the "complex human nature" hidden in the compound of the government office to the cat-ear cave in Lang Son.

As he read to the end, his eyes welled up with tears: "To write 'The Weight of Memory' at the age of 20! Genius! Genius!"

Unlike those young people, he could see the value in this long piece.

Have there been any good works from China in the past?
He thought it was possible.

But when was the last time you broke new ground in writing style, writing techniques, and writing logic, and wrote something different?
It was probably when Xun Ge'er wrote "Diary of a Madman".

How amazing is this work?
It's fair to say that if "The Unbreakable Red Silk" were his work, it would elevate him directly to the second tier of modern and contemporary Chinese literature.

There is only one first-tier team.

It's still Xun Ge~
He hesitated for a moment, then took out a piece of paper from his bag and began to write, one word at a time.

Meanwhile, people all over the country who love literature, and all places that can be reached by "Qingming", are captivated by the stories in "Red Silk".

Xu Chengjun is famous?
No, calling him "fire" is a bit of an insult.

I don't know when it started, but the literary world no longer sees him as a young writer, but as a writer and scholar with real talent.

Even though he's only 20.

But it doesn't matter, although the literary world will never be short of examples like Yu Hua and J.K. Rowling, who achieved great things later in life.

But genius is a more convincing synonym in the field of literature.

Shelley wrote "Queen Mab" at the age of twenty, Rimbaud completed "The Drunken Boat" and "A Season in Hell" before the age of twenty, and Hugo published his poetry collection "Odes" at the age of twenty.
Who would mind having an extra Xu Chengjun?
-
1979 12 Month 25 Day.

The People's Daily published a long article in its literary review section entitled "The Red Silk Breaks Free: On the Narrative Revolution and Humanistic Depth of Xu Chengjun's 'The Unbreakable Red Silk'".

Signed "Wang Meng".

At that time, the lingering snow in the compound of the Beijing government offices was still hanging on the locust branches, but this warm commentary sparked a heated discussion in the literary world.

It is not only a literary senior's high praise for a junior.

It also accurately defines the "breakthrough work" of Chinese literature in the last year of the 70s.

Reading Xu Chengjun's "The Unbreakable Red Silk" is like seeing a sharp blade dissecting the pulse of the times.

While most war dramas still revolve around the one-way narrative of 'our side is righteous, the enemy is evil,' this 20-year-old dared to write down the confusion of Vietnamese soldier Nguyen Van Hieu: 'You helped us fight the United States in 1965, why are you fighting us now?'

The article begins by directly addressing the core issues plaguing the literary scene in 1979.

Wang Meng, drawing on his own experience writing "A Young Man Arrives at the Organization Department," points out that "literature of special eras often twists human nature into labels," while Xu Chengjun's "mirror perspective" breaks this constraint: "Ruan Wenxiao clutches the cloth bag woven by his mother, Xu Jianjun hides Huang Siyuan's enamel mug, the two soldiers separated by the haze of gunpowder smoke are two sides of the same coin—this is not about war, but about all the 'people' swept up by the times."

He made no attempt to hide his amazement: "I have been editing manuscripts for People's Literature for more than ten years and have seen many newcomers who dare to write, but few geniuses who can write well. Xu Chengjun's strength lies in his ability to liberate the 'enemy' from symbols, making Ruan Wenxiao's confusion more powerful than ten heroic slogans—this is a respect for the 'complexity of human nature' and a return to the essence of literature."

As a senior figure who personally experienced the literary revolution, Wang Meng possessed a keen insight into the narrative breakthroughs of "Red Silk" that was unmatched by others.

In his article, he compared it to Lu Xun's "Diary of a Madman," which was not an exaggeration, but rather a precise capture of the commonality of "pioneering": "Lu Xun tore off the mask of feudal ethics from the perspective of a madman, while Xu Chengjun deconstructed the absurdity of war from multiple perspectives."

The former is a "shout-style" breakthrough, the latter a "quiet" approach of in-depth cultivation, yet both are contemporary continuations of the principle of "using literature to convey moral values."

He meticulously analyzed the narrative magic of "Red Silk": "When writing about Xu Jianjun's guilt, he doesn't directly say 'I'm sorry to Siyuan,' but only describes the perpetually slightly slumped curve of his left shoulder and the action of him taking out the enamel mug at night; when writing about Li Xiaoman and Gu Daqiang's missed connection, he doesn't shout the slogan 'The times are cruel,' but only makes her weep uncontrollably when she reads 'Our lives are full of sunshine' on TV, and makes him put up her program photos on the wall of the shoe repair shop."

This style of writing, which uses details to convey deep emotions, shows a greater understanding of human nature than the idealism I displayed when I wrote "Long Live Youth."

What's even more remarkable is that Wang Meng points out the timeless value of "Red Silk": "It's not just a simple 'military novel,' but an 'epic of destiny' spanning forty years. From the sparks of steel rods during the Third Front construction to the red silk and bloodstains on the Lang Son battlefield, and then to the half-broken wooden comb in Xu Nian'an's hand, time in the text is not a linear scale, but a rope that entwines people's hearts. This kind of 'time-space folding' narrative, placed in the coordinate system of world literature, is enough to have an epic dialogue with works like 'And Quiet Flows the Don.'"

"The ultimate goal of literature is to write about 'how memory shapes people'."

In his article, Wang Meng elaborates on the depth of humanity in "Red Silk," and particularly praises Xu Chengjun's writing on "traumatic memory."

"Huang Siyuan's half-carved wooden comb, Xu Jianjun's old shoulder and back injury, and Ruan Wenxiao's bilingual Chinese and Vietnamese characters on the wall—these 'unfinished thoughts' reveal more humanity than 'heroic deeds.' This is something only a writer who understands life and people can do."

He refuted the prejudice in the literary world at the time that "young writers lack experience."

"Some say that a 20-year-old cannot write profound works, but Xu Chengjun uses 'Red Silk' to prove that profoundness is not about age, but about the perception of 'people'. He writes about Lu Xiulan's excitement at secretly applying face cream, and about Xu Zhiguo's trembling hands when opening his college admission notice. These everyday details give warmth to the family against the backdrop of war, and make the words 'family and country' no longer empty symbols. This is the best integration of Confucian 'righteousness' and 'human feelings', and it is the unique literary foundation of the Chinese people."

"If you ask where 'Red Silk' occupies in the history of Chinese literature, I dare say that it is a groundbreaking work in the 'post-scar literature era'."

At the end of the article, Wang Meng generously gave his assessment: "In the past, we had 'Diary of a Madman' torn open the shackles of feudalism; today, we have 'Red Silk' deconstructing the narrative of war. The former allows literature to 'shout out,' while the latter allows literature to 'quiet down.'"

Although separated by more than sixty years, both were sparks that ignited the flame of "awakening the world through literature."

As a senior figure, he vindicated Xu Chengjun and also provided guidance for the literary world.

"Xu Chengjun's genius lies not in 'daring to write,' but in 'knowing how to write.' He does not shy away from the cruelty of war, but he does not abandon the glimmer of humanity; he does not deny the weight of the times, but he does not drown out the joys and sorrows of the individual. This kind of 'unbiased clarity' is the quality that literature needs most today."

The author concluded with the comment, "To be able to write 'The Weight of Memory' at the age of 20, this young man has a bright future, and Chinese literature has a bright future."

When this commentary spread throughout the country via the People's Daily, it resonated in Fudan University campus in Shanghai, the Writers' Association offices in Beijing, and the Banan Library in Chongqing.
Countless people held newspapers and discussed "The Red Silk".

That year, when journalist Zhao Zhongxiang interviewed readers of "Red Silk," he used the term "phenomenal" to describe "Red Silk" for the first time, indicating that the new literary work was a bestseller.

That year, Xiao Qian participated in the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa. When faced with questions from American journalists about Chinese literature, he talked about "Dream of the Red Chamber," "Jin Ping Mei," and even Zhou Xun's "Diary of a Madman."

An American journalist pressed further: "Xiao, I'm talking about modern literature, not classical literature. You know what I mean, works like 'Sophie's Choice' and 'Prison Bird'."

Xiao Qian was speechless for a moment.

After a long while, a student next to him handed him a note that read "The Unbreakable Red Silk," by Xu Chengjun.

After a moment's hesitation, Xiao Qian said, "Our young writer Xu Chengjun's 'Red Silk' can be considered a masterpiece comparable to world-renowned modern literary works."

The American teachers, students, and reporters in the audience whispered among themselves.

But for the first time, the fame of "Red Silk" spread abroad.

12 month 18 day.

The New York Times’ Books & Arts section published a report titled “A Literary Response from China: The Unbreakable Red Silk in the Iowa Writing Project.”

Journalist John Rodriguez, with a slightly sarcastic yet subtly critical tone, documented a dramatic scene at the University of Iowa's International Writing Program.

This dialogue, which was originally focused on "classical Chinese literature," was transformed by a Chinese novel called "Red Silk," which allowed the Western literary world to glimpse a vibrant corner of modern Chinese literature in the early days of reform and opening up for the first time.

(End of this chapter)