My era, 1979!

Chapter 181 He's like a highly skilled surgeon (5k)

My brief conversation with Li Xiaolin about "Black Keys" in the Fudan University archives ended with her astonished remark, "Do you think this thing will pass censorship? Even if Harvest magazine supports this kind of thing, it's easy to go wrong!"

Xu Chengjun shrugged indifferently and half-jokingly said, "If all else fails, we can publish it in Japan."

Although this was said in jest, it wasn't entirely without basis.

He knew in his heart that the overall standards for book publishing in this era were in a peculiar period of loosening.

The fact that Harvest magazine could publish works like "Red Magnolia Under the Great Wall," which directly touches upon historical wounds, demonstrates that a warm current is already flowing beneath the surface.

Of course, he understands.

The deep-seated melancholy and "soul sacrifice"-like love in "Black Keys" challenge not only the boundaries of the genre.

It's also an aesthetic inertia.
-
The days leading up to my departure were divided into hurried yet solemn farewells.

Xu Chengjun visited each of them in turn.

Mr. Zhu Dongrun patted him on the shoulder and said earnestly, "Japan has a well-ordered tradition of Sinology, and it is not lacking in new insights. Go there, see more, listen more, and think more. See how they treat our Tang and Song traditions, and how they digest Western theories."

Zhang Peiheng remained serious, offering only one piece of advice: "In academic exchanges, be neither arrogant nor humble. Your roots are in China, on the land beneath your feet. Don't let dazzling things distract you."

Huang Lin, however, was more concerned with specific matters, and jokingly reminded him to prepare the next issue of "The Wave" in advance, so that he wouldn't just become a hands-off manager once he arrived in Japan.

When he visited Ru Zhijuan, this older sister seemed to have already treated him like her own younger brother.

Unlike Li Xiaolin, who directly expressed surprise at the content of "Black Keys," she, as someone who had been through similar experiences, pointed out more realistic issues.

"There are many people in the exchange group, and their seniority and experience are all there. Mr. Ba naturally cares about you, but you yourself need to know how to behave properly, observe more and speak less, and focus your energy on formal exchange occasions."

Her tone was gentle, yet every word hit the nail on the head: "You were selected through exceptional means, and countless eyes are watching. Be careful with your words and actions, but don't be overly reserved and tarnish the spirit of our nation's younger generation."

On January 5th, "The Music Box" will be published in "Shanghai Literature".

Xu Chengjun felt a little regretful at the thought that he would miss the moment the magazine was published.

This trip to Japan will not only involve staying in Tokyo; according to the itinerary, they will visit several cities including Kyoto and Nara. This trip will last for nearly a month.

Saying goodbye to teachers is quiet, but parting from companions is much more lively.

He hosted a dinner at a small restaurant near the school, inviting core members of the "Wave" magazine, including Lin Yimin, Xu Demin, and Xu Wei.

During the meal, there was naturally no shortage of criticism of him as the "irresponsible" president.

"President, you keep disappearing all the time. Are you going to run to the moon next time?" Lin Yimin was the first to "challenge" him.

“Exactly! Just when things were starting to look promising with the Shanghai Federation of ‘The Wave’ magazine, you came back with a bang, putting all the pressure on us!” Xu Wei chimed in with a laugh.

Xu Demin adjusted his glasses and solemnly concluded: "In summary, the president's main job is to 'run away'."

For a moment, the private room was filled with laughter and cheers as people "condemned" the situation.

Xu Chengjun smiled and accepted it all; behind these jokes lay the support and expectations of his partners.

They all understood that once Xu Chengjun returned from Japan, he would have an added halo of "international exchange," and at that time, many of the current obstacles to promoting the establishment of the "Shanghai Wave Association" might be easily overcome.

The last moments were given to Su Manshu.

The two walked side by side on the Fudan University campus, the bleakness of winter unable to conceal the warmth in their hearts.

Xu Chengjun took out a hundred yuan that he had prepared in advance from his pocket and handed it over.

“Manshu, I’ll be gone for quite a while. Xiaomei, please visit her occasionally. Take this money, in case she needs anything, or if you two go out for a bite to eat together, it will be more convenient.”

Su Manshu was taken aback at first, then pushed his hand back, rolled her eyes at him a few times, and spoke in a soft Wu dialect with a hint of coquettishness and undeniable insistence:

"Xu Chengjun, are you trying to pull this on me? Do you think I need your money?"

She paused, her voice softening but becoming even more resolute: "Xiaomei is also my sister, it's only right that I take care of her. You go and do your important business, I'll take care of things here at home."

Seeing her feigned anger yet concerned expression, Xu Chengjun's last worry settled down.

He put the money away, said nothing more, just looked at her and smiled. Some things didn't need to be said.
-
To be honest, it was quite unexpected that Xu Chengjun was able to join the exchange group to Japan.

In the literary world of this era, or in any mature circle around the world, seniority is an ironclad rule.

A graduate student in his early twenties who has just begun to make a name for himself in the literary world would normally not even be on the shortlist.

If it weren't for the fact that Iwanami Shoten repeatedly and strongly mentioned and expressed their desire to meet Xu Chengjun, the author of "Red Silk" and "Hope," during the communication and exchange process, demonstrating the strong interest of the Japanese publishing industry and readers in his works, it would have been a significant step forward.

Furthermore, when finalizing the list, Mr. Ba Jin overruled all objections and decisively said, "Letting young people go out and broaden their horizons is a good idea; the arts must have successors."

Xu Chengjun would never have had the opportunity to participate in such a high-profile visit featuring a gathering of national treasure-level writers.

January 2, 1980, Shanghai Railway Station.

The platform was bustling with people, and the air was filled with the smell of coal smoke and the scent of parting.

Xu Chengjun, carrying a simple bag, immediately spotted Mr. Ba Jin, who was surrounded by several staff members in the center.

Although he had "recognized" him countless times in newspaper photos and in the printed words of literary history, Xu Chengjun was still involuntarily shocked when he saw him in person.

Ba Jin had a lean face, with skin that was often pale and unseen by the sun, typical of scholars. His broad, full forehead held the deep lines of wisdom and the weight of his past. He wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses common in that era, and behind the lenses, his eyes were gentle and clear, as if they could see through the world, yet were full of compassion.

The passage of time has etched clear wrinkles on his face, especially the deep nasolabial folds, which add to his composure and fortitude. Unlike the heavy and imposing presence that Xu Chengjun might have imagined for a literary giant, the old Ba Jin before him exuded a relaxed and peaceful aura, like an ancient pine tree that had weathered storms yet remained calm and graceful.

This is one of the pillars of Chinese literature, a "regular" in countless future Chinese language textbooks, and a living legend.

In that instant, Xu Chengjun recalled his previous life, the closest he had ever come to literary giants of the caliber of "Lu Xun, Guo Moruo, Mao Dun, Ba Jin, Lao She, and Cao Xueqin" was when he was gazing at Lao She's manuscripts through a glass case in the Lao She Memorial Hall in Beijing.

But at this moment, he was actually standing in front of another master.

Ba Jin also noticed this young man standing alone, whose demeanor was quite different from the middle-aged writers around him. A warm smile appeared on his face, and he waved to Xu Chengjun. His voice was not loud, but it carried the unique kindness of an elder:
"Is this Comrade Cheng Jun? The young man is quite dashing, even younger than I expected. Truly, heroes emerge from among the young!"

Xu Chengjun immediately composed himself, strode forward, leaned slightly forward, and performed a standard, respectful junior's salute.

"Mr. Ba, hello! I am Xu Chengjun. I have been reading your works for a long time, and I am finally able to meet you today."

His tone was full of sincere respect, neither humble nor arrogant, yet perfectly measured.

Ba Jin smiled and nodded, her gaze lingering on Xu Chengjun for a moment. Her eyes held concern, scrutiny, and a deep expectation for the younger generation of writers.

For Xu Chengjun, this journey, which began at Shanghai Railway Station, has long transcended the geographical distance in significance.

Their first stop on this trip is Beijing, where they will meet up with the main delegation and then board a plane together on the 5th to travel to Japan.

By chance, Ba Jin was traveling with Xu Chengjun when he returned to Shanghai to handle some personal matters. As a result, Xu Chengjun benefited from this arrangement and was assigned to a comfortable soft sleeper compartment with Ba Jin, while the other accompanying staff were scattered in the hard sleeper compartments.

Before boarding, a thoughtful staff member whispered a reminder to Xu Chengjun: "Comrade Xu, Mr. Ba is seventy-six this year. Don't let his vigorous appearance fool you; he's getting on in years, his blood pressure is a bit high, and he doesn't sleep very well, often waking up at night. Please take good care of him on the journey." Upon entering the private compartment, Mr. Ba overheard a few words, smiled, waved his hand, and spoke gently in heavily accented Sichuan Mandarin: "Don't listen to their fuss. This old body of mine can still manage. Don't bother, we'll do it ourselves."

Xu Chengjun insisted on helping Ba Lao settle his simple luggage. By then it was already eight o'clock in the evening.

As night deepened outside the window, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on the rails lulled me to sleep.

Although Xu Chengjun was filled with excitement and had countless questions he wanted to ask the literary giant beside him, he was even more afraid of disturbing the old man's rest, so he sat quietly on his bunk without saying much.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Ba seemed quite interested in him. After putting away his dark-rimmed glasses, he took the initiative to ask, "You just said you've read my books? Which ones?"

Xu Chengjun composed himself: "Mr. Ba, your trilogy of 'Family,' 'Spring,' and 'Autumn' is a must-read, as are 'Rest Garden' and 'Cold Night.' I'm also reading your essay collection 'Random Thoughts.' What impressed me most was Juehui's line in 'Family,' 'I am a youth, I am not a freak, I am not a fool, I will fight for my own happiness.' It was widely copied in our educated youth settlement."

What kind of person was Ba Jin?
He has been rarely mentioned in later generations.

Those who dislike him say his biggest problem is excessive emotional expression, which is the opposite of Hemingway's "iceberg principle." So, while his emotions seem sincere and passionate, they are not enduring, and his inner meaning and level are rather shallow.

Even worse,
They would say he is someone who considers himself of high status and tries his best to protect the powerful and wealthy.

A person who utterly despises the lower classes and goes to great lengths to humiliate and ridicule them.

A person whose head explodes and who has a hysterical outburst the moment they hear workers, peasants and soldiers on stage.

However, in Xu Chengjun's view, Ba Jin is like a highly skilled surgeon who uses precise surgical techniques to cut open the patient's lesion and expose the tumor inside.

Then, he quietly looked at the tumors, and you looked at him, and he looked at you.

You have something to say, something to say about why he doesn't remove the tumors, but the next moment you realize clearly that he can't do it.

You suddenly hate him, hate him for cutting out the tumor and letting you see it, but then you realize that you made him do it.

So when faced with such a doctor, all you can do is remain silent, because he is too precise, too profound, and too powerless.

Those who know him are unwilling to talk about him, and those who don't know him don't even know who he is, so naturally there is less and less discussion about him.

And this is exactly what some people want to see; they hope to forget him, or better yet, never have appeared at all.

Fortunately, Ba Jin left behind a sentence that expressed his understanding:

When you get to know the people of this land, you will find that their minds are worthy of the suffering they have endured.

Upon hearing this, Ba Lao smiled gently on his thin face and pointed at him with his finger: "Xiaolin has always told me that you, Xu Chengjun, look steady but are actually a little sly. I didn't quite believe it. But now that you're talking about 'youth' and 'striving for happiness,' I have to believe it."

"Xiaolin was just joking with me." Xu Chengjun laughed, and the atmosphere immediately became much more relaxed.

The two began to chat, from Ba Jin's works and the enlightenment spirit of the May Fourth New Literature Movement, to the achievements and twists and turns of literature and art during the "Seventeen Years", and from the past and friends of the League of Left-Wing Writers to Xu Chengjun's own works "Red Silk", "Hope" and "Black Key".

Ba Jin's words were plain and simple, but his occasional casual comment or a detail about the past of the literary world gave Xu Chengjun, who originally understood literary history only by relying on later historical materials and his own creative intuition, a sense of enlightenment.

Although he stands at the lower reaches of the river of history and looks down upon it, many of the undercurrents, eddies, and true driving forces within it become clear at this moment.

He could clearly sense that Ba Jin's words carried a deep sense of earnest advice for younger generations of writers.

As night deepened, Ba Jin looked slightly tired, but during a break in the conversation, he seemed to suddenly remember something and asked, intentionally or unintentionally, "Cheng Jun, have you ever considered working in a publishing house or the Writers' Association system? Those places need the fresh perspectives of young people like you even more."

Xu Chengjun was taken aback by the question; it was somewhat unexpected.

He remained silent for a moment, not answering directly, but instead raising his head, looking at Elder Ba with clear and earnest eyes, and asking a question that made the old man slightly startled:

"Mr. Ba, what do you think will be the future development of Chinese literature?"

As Ba Jin leaned against his berth, his gaze seemed to pierce through the carriage wall, looking towards a more distant place. He slowly said, "The future of literature lies in speaking the truth, in the awakening of people, and in giving future generations a broader space to explore."

Xu Chengjun took a deep breath and continued, "If... if literature only stays within the framework of the past, only speaking a limited amount of truth within permitted limits, then I think that before the millennium, the creativity of Chinese literature may become rigid or even 'dead.' Mr. Ba, I don't want to be confined so early. I want... I want to try to use my pen to explore and see if our generation can forge a few different paths for Chinese literature."

These words were bold, even arrogant.

After listening, Ba Jin first subconsciously shook his head slightly, but then a complex, bitter smile appeared on his face, tinged with helplessness and understanding.

He neither criticized nor agreed; he simply sighed softly and pulled the blanket over himself.

"Young people, it's good to have ambition... The road ahead is long, take it slow and see how it goes."

The only sound in the carriage was the rhythmic clatter of the rails as the old man and the young man sped northward.

Xu Chengjun didn't fully grasp the deeper meaning of "the road ahead is long." The value of literary works varies from person to person, but he at least knew that the old man's character could withstand the test of time.

According to Xu Chengjun, Ba Jin is the contemporary writer who dislikes fame the most.

To be honest, he didn't accept all of Ba Jin's works, but Ba Jin himself was truly admirable.

He was sincere and open throughout his life, and his words and deeds were consistent; he was indifferent to fame and fortune and truly did not care about them—this self-control is especially rare.

Among scholars throughout history, there are many who are so aloof as to regard money as nothing, but the desire for fame in their hearts is the hardest to eradicate.

Ba Jin is different.

He never wrote for personal fame; every piece he wrote was imbued with the intention of changing the world and influencing people's hearts. He upheld this simple idealism throughout his life.

He opposed establishing foundations, setting up literary awards, or building memorial halls in his own name.

Among contemporary literary figures, perhaps only Qian Zhongshu and Ba Jin could firmly refuse such honors.

The "former residences" and "memorial halls" of today actually violate their own wishes.

Of the six masters known as Lu Xun, Guo Moruo, Mao Dun, Ba Jin, Lao She, and Cao Xueqin, only Ba Jin has no literary award named after him. This is not because he lacks prestige, but because he made a firm vow that no one should use his name to gain fame.

He shared another trait with Qian Zhongshu—he regarded money as worthless. The Qian and Yang couple donated all their income, and Ba Jin went even further. After the liberation, he was appointed to a public office but announced he would not accept a single penny in salary, living solely on royalties. After resuming publishing books in 1976, he relinquished all royalties from his very first book, using the proceeds to support impoverished authors.

According to the editor's recollection, Ba Jin not only refused royalties, but also paid for the sample copies out of his own pocket. When the publisher developed his photos, he even sent money from Shanghai to pay for it.

Throughout history, who else among scholars has been able to achieve this level?

Perhaps by today's literary standards, Ba Jin's works are out of step with the times. But his literary integrity is something that later generations will find hard to match.

He lived to be 101 years old and was a truly good person throughout his life—upright, warm-hearted, kind, and selfless.

Even the most common romantic affairs among scholars remained untouched by him. After his wife Xiao Shan passed away, he remained single for thirty-three years, keeping her ashes in his bedroom day and night.

The reason why "Random Thoughts" can move a generation is that readers can feel that such a good, honest, and pure intellectual should suffer such a torment for no reason. Isn't this world cruel enough?
The same "Random Thoughts" would never have such a tremendous impact if written by someone else.

In the postscript to the publication of his collected works in his later years, Ba Jin wrote: "I must use my final words and deeds to prove that I am not a fraudster who deceives the world and steals fame."

This sentence seems to have been written with tears in my eyes.

It was incredibly touching.

(End of this chapter)