Writer 1978: I Need to Give the Literary World a Lesson

Chapter 47 A Poem as a Gift
Inside the guesthouse room, the smell of kerosene mingled with the scent of mothballs. A kerosene lamp sat on the dark brown, peeling-painted desk, though it was empty. The window faced Dongsi Street outside; drawing the gray checkered coarse cloth curtains immediately plunged the room into darkness.

The white bed sheet was badly worn, but it was washed very clean. An inconspicuous corner of the sheet had been burned with a cigarette. Behind the dirty wooden door was a faded dark red washbasin stand, with a peony-patterned washbasin sitting quietly on it, and a towel hanging from the top of the stand.

A spittoon sat under the tripod, with the words "Please be hygienic" printed on it. Liu Yimin put the things away, washed his feet, and then plopped down on the guesthouse bed.

Then I lay down in a "spread-eagle" position, tossed and turned a few times to stretch my aching body, and only after my body and soul had been reconnected did I close my eyes. In less than five minutes, I was asleep.

When Zou Huofan returned to the editorial department, a group of editors looked up and surrounded him, asking what Liu Yimin looked like. Was he a college student or an older "college student"? These days, there were college students of all ages. Yenching University had enrollment restrictions, but the maximum age for admission was 30.

"Very young!"

"How young?" an editor asked curiously.

"A young man in his early twenties, full of energy, looking like he was on the rise. He was also very tall, about the same height as Zhao Zhenkai... Bei Dao, but he looked more energetic and real. He didn't have that melancholy feeling that many poets have."

Zou Huofan originally wanted to say "feigning melancholy," but then felt it was inappropriate and removed the word "feigning."

"I really want to meet my fellow villager!" Ge Luo said from the side.

Zou Huofan said with a smile, "You've been on the train for so long, you must be exhausted. Young people need to rest for a while. Now that everyone's here, there's no need to worry about not seeing each other. Everyone, please focus on reading your manuscripts!"

After speaking, Zou Huofan sat down first, opened a sack of manuscripts next to him, and began to read through them. The more he read, the less interesting he found it. He glanced at his watch and realized it was still early before lunchtime, so he sighed and forced himself to continue reading.

After this happened three or four times, Zou Huofan lost all interest in reading the manuscript.

"Old Zou, I think you shouldn't force yourself to read this. This fellow villager of mine is making you anxious." Ge Luo pushed the manuscript aside and continued, "How about we play a couple of rounds?"

"Are you trying to take advantage of my distraction to put me in a difficult position? Come on, let me show you what a master is!"

Zou Huofan simply stopped looking at the manuscript, and the two found an empty office and started playing chess.

When Liu Yimin heard the knocking on the door, it was already 1:30 in the afternoon. He quickly threw on some clothes, ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled open the metal latch behind the wooden door.

Zou Huofan, who was standing outside the door, was holding a lunchbox and a bottle of soda. He finally breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Liu Yimin open the door.

When he got off work at noon, he and Ge Luo came to call Liu Yimin, but no matter how much they knocked, no one answered the door. Ge Luo figured Liu Yimin must be too tired and hadn't woken up yet, so the two of them gave up. After lunch, Zou Huofan specially used his own lunchbox to get Liu Yimin a meal, afraid that he would go hungry.

Fortunately, the door was opened after knocking; otherwise, Zou Huofan was prepared to have someone break it open.

Liu Yimin shook his head to clear his mind a little, and quickly let Zou Huofan in.

"Yimin, you look really exhausted. Eat something quickly, then go to sleep!" Zou Huofan put down the lunchbox and soda, and seeing that Liu Yimin was covered in sweat, he went to the water room to get a basin of cool water and washed Liu Yimin's face.

"Editor Zou, no need, I can do it myself." Liu Yimin took the wet towel and didn't let Zou Huofan wipe his face.

The lunchbox contained braised pork on top and rice with stir-fried cabbage on the bottom. Liu Yimin was indeed hungry and wolfed down his food. Zou Huofan, worried he might choke, urged him to drink some soda.

After letting out a burp, Zou Huofan began to introduce him to "Poetry Journal," starting with its founding and development, roughly saying how amazing "Poetry Journal" was, how authoritative it was in the literary world's poetry category, and that he should remember to submit his manuscripts to them in the future.

Zou Huofan then recounted how Bei Dao, Mang Ke, and others had come to see him, and that Liu Yimin had already arrived in Yanjing. Zou Huofan hadn't yet informed the other poets and Cui Daoyi of *People's Literature*. He wanted Liu Yimin to rest more, to spend more time in *Poetry Journal*, and so on…

"Yimin, what do you think of the current direction of poetry creation?" Zou Huofan finally couldn't help but ask.

"Editor Zou, I've read several issues of Poetry Journal. I believe that the current direction of poetry creation is inseparable from the historical era we live in, not only in poetry but also in literary novels. Having just emerged from the shadows of the past decade, people have so much to say, yet they don't know what to say."

It's like someone finally emerging from the fog, only to feel even more lost, unsure of their next step. Therefore, poetry inevitably encompasses various styles, but a central theme remains critical reflection, coupled with a yearning for the future. The thoughts of poets and writers transition from collectivism to individualism.

Liu Yimin said a few simple words, and Zou Huofan looked at the young man in front of him with new respect. Being able to look at the poetry scene from the perspective of a poet is remarkable in itself.

Zou Huofan saw that his lunchbox was almost empty and that it was not long before he left. He finally asked one last question: "Yimin, have you written any poems recently? If so, it will save us the trouble of sending a letter."

Liu Yimin frowned slightly, and Zou Huofan quickly said, "It's okay if you don't have one."

“Old Zou, since you’re here, I should give you a gift. Just because I haven’t had one recently doesn’t mean I don’t have one now. Let me think about it!” Liu Yimin stood up and said.

Just because it hasn't happened recently doesn't mean it doesn't happen now? What does that mean? Before Zou Huofan could react, Liu Yimin patted his head and said it had happened.

"You got it?" Zou Huofan repeated, then excitedly asked, "Really?"

"Comrade Zou, did you bring paper and pen? I'll read it aloud, and you can write it down!"

"I brought it, I brought it, you read it!" Zou Huofan hurriedly pulled out a small notebook from his pocket, bit off the cap of the fountain pen with his teeth, and looked at Liu Yimin expectantly, vaguely feeling that another classic poem was about to be born.

It is a great honor to witness this moment of spontaneous poetry. I must brag about it when I get back to the editorial office.

"Comrade Zou, I'm starting to read!"

"Read it!"

(End of this chapter)