My era, 1979!

Chapter 176 Black Soil (Seeking monthly votes!)

When Xu Chengjun finished conceiving the final section of "Black Key," especially Shen Yan's inner monologue, he was not just writing, but performing a soul sacrifice.

He completely immersed himself in the role of Shen Yan, feeling his darkness, his sacrifice, and his twisted yet incredibly sincere love.

However, beneath this exhaustion lies an immense and indescribable satisfaction.

He successfully presented a complex and painful story that had been lingering in his mind for a long time in a complete and artistic way.

He created two tragic figures, Lin Wanqiu and Shen Yan, who are destined to be imprinted in the hearts of readers. He completed a work that is outstanding among his peers in both thought and art.

We've been doing this openly and honestly for a long time.

Crawling in the shadows once~
During the lecture, he dared to declare that his new work was "different from any kind of domestic literature you see now." This was not just pure commercial boasting, but stemmed from his absolute confidence in the quality of works like "Black Keys."

When he finished writing the outline and the first part.

He will be even more convinced of this in his heart.

He completed a narrative adventure.

He blends suspense, romance, crime with profound reflections on the times and questions about human nature.

He broke away from some of the conventions of "scar literature," not stopping at accusations, but delving into the philosophical level of "crime and punishment" and "redemption."

He created a unique aesthetic image.

"White and black keys", "clock gears and musical score fragments", "Suzhou River"...

These images are not merely symbols; they have become the narrative itself, possessing life.

He knew that this aesthetic system belonged exclusively to him, Xu Chengjun.

He could foresee the impact of "Black Keys".

Once published, it will never disappear without a trace.

It will cause controversy, pain, and contemplation.

Whether it's praise or criticism, it means the work has truly touched a nerve with people.

This premonition of impending upheaval would excite him.

Although he is the god of the story, when the story is finished and the characters have their own destinies, the author becomes a prisoner of their fate.

He was heartbroken for Shen Yan.

He understands Shen Yan better than any reader.

All of this boy's actions stemmed from a deep, unspeakable understanding and love.

His "evil" was so purely for the sake of fulfilling another kind of "good".

When Xu Chengjun wrote the ending where Shen Yan finally jumped into the icy river, his heart was filled with sadness and reluctance, as if he were personally saying goodbye to a dear friend.

I feel sorry for Lin Wanqiu.

He also understood how heavy the burden of Lin Wanqiu's "freedom," which he had to repay with his entire life, was.

She achieved worldly success, but she lived forever in the judgment seat of her own heart.

Her "life spent playing on the white keys" is a brilliant yet painful paradox.

He felt a sense of powerlessness, like a "creator," because even he couldn't give these two characters a bright, fairytale-like ending.

The tides of the times and their personal sins have pushed them toward an inevitable tragedy.

This is the cruelty of knowing it's a tragedy yet having to write it down truthfully.

He possesses both the ecstasy and confidence of a creator, as well as the sensitivity and sorrow of sharing the grief of the characters.

All of this ultimately became his motivation to keep going, just as he told his students: "Literature is a bridge... help people cross the bridge."

"Black Keys" is a bridge he built to the depths of human nature and to a complex era. He was the first person to cross this bridge and know its dangers and scenery.

After a long while, Xu Chengjun finished writing the outline of the entire text and completed the opening chapter of nearly 10,000 words.

Thanks to his experience writing online novels in his previous life, Xu Chengjun now writes an outline for every medium-length or long novel he writes.

The advantage is that it allows for a more coherent logical flow in the content and reduces writing time.

This contradicts the "unconventional creative method" advocated by many contemporary writers.

After reading "Red Silk," Ren Daxing admired Xu Chengjun's feelings, but commented on his writing style in Wenhui Daily: "I understand his technique, I appreciate his heart, but I have doubts about his method."

of course.

This creative philosophy is closely related to his understanding of the essence of literature.

Ren Daxing believes that literary creation is different from engineering construction. If one relies entirely on an outline, it is easy to fall into the trap of "conceptualization". However, impromptu writing can unleash artistic creativity to the greatest extent, allowing characters and plots to burst forth with a sense of reality in a natural flow.

In his commentary, he emphasized that "the essential function of a novel... lies in moving people with emotion," rather than mechanically interpreting themes.

Of course, overall, he highly approves of the artistic structure of "Red Silk".

However, there is a question in the entire literary world.

Why can his structural integrity and spirituality coexist?
Only Xu Chengjun knew.

He has no talent.

However, he has seen the vast majority of the excellent works from the next forty years.

Domestic or international~
Other people's genius comes from occasional flashes of inspiration.

He, on the other hand, lay on top of the inspiration of geniuses and feasted on it.
-
Xu Chengjun looked up at the old wall clock in the dormitory.

It's already past midnight.

I looked up and glanced out the window.

Midnight in Songzhuang is a tranquility that swallows up all the noise of the day.

Only the rustling of the wind through the leaves and a few scattered, sleepless lights in the distance remain, like the last traces of humanity.

He suddenly felt like going for a walk; the dark side of "Black Keys" seemed to have merged with the darkness outside the window.

The rustling sound of dressing was particularly clear in the quiet dormitory, startling Li Jihai, who was not yet in a deep sleep.

He turned to the side and, by the dim light coming in from the window, saw Xu Chengjun quietly putting on his coat, seemingly about to go out.

Li Jihai, a member of the "Old Three Classes" from the black soil region, was the quietest person in the entire dormitory.

But he was also the most hardworking and diligent one.

"Cheng Jun?"

Li Jihai's voice was hoarse from just waking up, "Where are you going so late?"

Xu Chengjun paused in buttoning his shirt, then said in a low voice, "I'm feeling a bit down from writing, and I've got some things bottled up inside. I want to go out for a walk and get some fresh air."

Li Jihai didn't ask any more questions, but silently sat up and began to dress.

His movements were slow, but they carried an undeniable firmness.

The older brother embodies the stubbornness and forthrightness of Northeast China, as well as the silence that belongs to this era.
Xu Chengjun glanced at him but did not stop him.

The two of them silently closed the dormitory door one after the other, disappearing into the embrace of Fudan University at midnight.

The early summer night breeze carried a touch of coolness, dispelling the lingering noise of the day.

The distant teaching building is now just a dark silhouette, standing silently beneath the sky.

Nearby, faint chirping of insects came from the unknown grass, and further away, a long, drawn-out whistle seemed to echo from the Huangpu River, piercing through the night and adding to the sense of emptiness and desolation.

The moonlight was not bright, but hazy, making everything seem unreal, as if I had sunk into a tranquil and profound dream.

The two walked side by side along the path dappled with the shadows of the trees, remaining silent for a moment.

Only the soft rustling of footsteps broke the stillness of the night.

Finally, Li Jihai broke the silence, his voice sounding particularly deep in the night wind: "You didn't look well after you finished writing. Did you encounter some difficulties?"

Xu Chengjun shook his head, then remembered that the other person might not be able to see clearly in the dark, so he said, "It's not a difficulty. It's that it was written into the story... I went through it with the character."

Li Jihai seemed to understand, but he could sense the heavy weariness in Xu Chengjun's words.

He gazed at the blurry night in the distance, as if looking towards another distant world. Li Jihai was a man of few words, and the two walked in silence.

After a long silence, he spoke slowly, his voice rough:

“I understand that feeling of sinking down. When I was on the black soil, sometimes after harvesting wheat, I would lie on the edge of the field, exhausted, looking at the sky, so high and far away, frighteningly blue, and I would feel like I was falling down, falling into that boundless land… That place can swallow all your strength and all your thoughts.”

He paused, seemingly searching for the right words to describe that period of time that had become ingrained in his very being.

"Back then, we took a train for several days and nights to reach the Great Northern Wilderness. As soon as we got off the train, all we could see was black soil, as flat as the sea. When the wind blew, the wheat fields rippled like waves, and that was truly magnificent."

But behind this grandeur... lies the bitter cold of minus forty degrees Celsius, the frozen soil as hard as iron, a single strike with a pickaxe leaving only a white dot; it's when the "big smoke bombs" rise, the world turns into a white expanse, visibility is reduced to just a few steps, enough to freeze a person away; it's in the summer, hoeing the fields, the mosquitoes and gnats swarming, enough to drive a person mad... and then there's watching helplessly as companions... because of accidents or disease, remain there forever.

His tone was calm, without deliberately exaggerating the tragedy, but it was precisely this calmness that revealed a deep-seated helplessness and desolation.

That was the weight of an era, pressing down on the shoulders of individuals, borne by countless youths and lives.

“That place is truly bitter, but strangely, it has an indescribable power. It makes you feel as insignificant as a speck of dust, yet it also makes you feel that as long as you are willing to put in the effort, you can dig food out of this black soil and survive. The people there are like the land, simple, stubborn, and once they have made up their minds, not even ten oxen can pull them back. They may not be very educated, but they are clear-headed and value relationships.”

Li Jihai stopped and turned to look at Xu Chengjun, who was immersed in the night beside him, his gaze deep.

“Ji Hai,” Xu Chengjun responded softly, sensing the heavy weight in the other’s words.

"Getting all sentimental in the middle of the night~"

"But I can understand you. I like Northeast China. Although I've never been there in my life, there's a strange sense of familiarity with that place."

Xu Chengjun smiled.

He has never been there in this life, but in his previous life he was born and raised on the black soil of Northeast China.

When I was a child, I always heard my elders talk about the blizzards in the Great Northern Wilderness, the logging chants in the snowy forests, and the passion and hardship of building in the icy wilderness.

Listening to the firsthand accounts, those dormant stories seem to sprout fresh new shoots from the soil of memory.

Li Jihai glanced at Xu Chengjun in surprise and laughed, "You always manage to catch our emotions, no wonder you've achieved such success."

Xu Chengjun smiled and patted him on the shoulder: "By getting this far, we are all champions on our own life's journey."

The two walked for a while.

Li Jihai suddenly opened his mouth, with an almost earnest sincerity: "Chengjun, I don't have your writing skills. I want to write, but I can't capture the years in that remote corner of Northeast China, I can't capture the soul of that land."

Those ten years are all etched in my mind, a jumbled mess I can't make sense of. But, Chengjun…”

He paused, as if he had made a great decision.

"If you have the chance, I really hope you can go to the black soil region. Not just for a quick visit, but to immerse yourself in it and see how the people there survived and how they continue to live."

The stories you write have a certain power; they can penetrate people's hearts. If you could use your pen to write about them... that would be wonderful.

Xu Chengjun was startled.

Li Jihai's words unexpectedly opened a Pandora's box in his heart.

Does he want to write?

Think about it.

His recently completed novel, "Black Keys," is about gloomy and twisted love and sacrifice, a soul sacrifice against an urban backdrop.

And the vast, bitter yet resilient black soil that Li Jihai spoke of, and the people who live and thrive on it, their love and hate, their struggles, their silence and their outbursts, are they not another kind of magnificent, another kind of helplessness and sorrow under the torrent of the times?
In the darkness, he looked into Li Jihai's eyes, which still shone faintly in the darkness, reflecting the frost and snow of the north and the tranquility of this Jiangnan campus.

He seemed to see a new bridge leading to a rich and fertile literary land that he had not yet truly explored.

"I will."

Xu Chengjun nodded solemnly, his voice soft but unusually firm, "There will definitely be an opportunity."

"It's our good fortune to have met you at Fudan University."

"."

Will you go back to Northeast China after graduation?

"Yes, my hometown needs people like us to build it up!"

"Developing Northeast China?"

"Yes!" Li Jihai's voice was filled with reverence.

Xu Chengjun didn't say anything more, he just smiled.

To be honest, of all the people in his dorm, the one he admired most was the single-minded Li Jihai.

Cultured people often have many cunning schemes.

But he didn't seem like a Chinese literature major at all.

The two stopped talking and continued their stroll in the quiet night at Fudan University.

Xu Chengjun's thinking is divergent.

In his previous life, he was also a "Northeastern boy whose coming-of-age ceremony was a train ticket to the South."

He was also a Northeastern boy whose "canned yellow peaches could cure all his ailments."

The day before he traveled through time, he remembered seeing a video on Douyin: "I would love to be born and raised in Northeast China. But I have to earn some money to go back to Northeast China."

People~
This lifetime~
After all the twists and turns, what I yearn for is ultimately that original land.

The chirping of insects in the distance became clearer, and the feeling of emptiness that "Black Keys" evoked was quietly filled by another, deeper and broader emotion.

in case,

He was just saying "if".

He wrote something that could make that land more vibrant, something that would prevent it from becoming a place of suffering.
"There are no human traffickers in Northeast China, but children are lost every year."
-
In mid-December, Xu Chengjun was back to being very busy.

The genealogical research he conducted with Wang Shuizhao occupied half of his time each day, while the other half was spent on the creation of "Black Key" and the study of Song Dynasty literature. It is worth mentioning that Xu Chengjun was also invited to write articles for publications such as "Literary Review" and "Wen Shi Zhi" which are more popular than "Fudan Journal", introducing his research to a wider audience.

During this period, Xu's parents wrote many letters, asking about Xu Xiaomei and his recent situation. He could clearly see that the old couple were somewhat like this younger sister. After all, for the past thirty years, even though his older brother Xu Jianjun was not by his side, there was still Chengjun and Xiaomei. When Chengjun passed away, there was still Xiaomei.

Now, the elderly couple has no children living with them.

She misses her child.

Xu Xiaomei didn't feel much; she was now full of enthusiasm for the college entrance examination, with the determination to succeed at all costs.

Xu Chengjun pursed his lips.

Xu Xiaomei put her hands on her hips.

Never mind, I'm impressed by the strong woman's aura.

Su Manshu has recently gone "crazy" with her research paper on agricultural light and heavy industry, which has kept her immersed in the library all day.

Xu Xiaomei and Su Manshu were working like "workaholics".

However, Xu Chengjun himself might be working even harder.

But the King of Curries is never aware that he's cursing!
Every time Xu Chengjun advised her to take it easy, she would shut him up with a single sentence that made his teeth ache.

"I don't have a single paper, while you've published in top journals like the Fudan Journal and Literary Review. You'd be eligible for a promotion to associate professor right after graduating with a master's degree. Do you want me to be just a pretty face? Xu Chengjun's appendage?"

"."

Okay, keep it up, girl!
I'm a feminist!
"The Wave" is also getting better and better. The members have gotten used to not seeing the president. Xu Chengjun's hands-off management approach has "worked out".

The path of fan-made magazines has been successfully established. In the southern campus circles, the influence of "The Wave" has gradually spread. Universities in South China, Central China, and Southwest China, such as Wuhan University, Sun Yat-sen University, and Sichuan University, have gradually established connections and regularly agreed to exchange fan-made magazines.

Most importantly, Fudan University took the lead in establishing the "Inspur Cross-University Literary Association" in collaboration with other universities in Shanghai, such as East China Normal University and Shanghai Jiao Tong University.

Xu Chengjun will serve as the first chairman of the federation. The specific form is under discussion. Xu Demin and Lin Yimin, the "double people" duo, are both ambitious for official positions and are very concerned about this matter.

The progress is going relatively smoothly.

In other words, "The Wave" is expanding into a fan fiction publication belonging to all high schools in Shanghai.

12 month 24 day.

The Cultural Section of the Japanese Embassy in China contacted Xu Chengjun through relevant departments in Shanghai.

Kimihiko Baba, the editor-in-chief of Iwanami Shoten, came to China hoping to publish his book, "The Unbreakable Red Silk".

(End of this chapter)