Back to 17, My Brother is the Cult Leader

Ellie coughed softly beside her.

"You should start thinking about it."

Fang Yuan and Zhu Weilian laughed at the same time.

William Zhu's smile faded, and he said seriously:

"Getting back to the main topic. What exactly is Rongshuxia doing? I often tell people that I'm not building a literary website, but rather conducting an experiment to 'return literature to ordinary people'."

In China, literature has long been considered a very "important" matter—you need to be in the Writers' Association system, you need connections, you need influence, and you need to have connections before your work can be published in journals and seen by readers.

This system has nurtured many excellent writers, but it has also shut out a great deal of potential.

The advent of the Internet changed that.

If you want to write, you can write; once you write, you can publish; once you publish, people can read it.

No approval is needed, and no one's opinion is required.

This is the core concept of "Under the Banyan Tree".

Fang Yuan listened attentively, not even noticing that his tea had gone cold.

"When you were writing Twilight," William Zhu suddenly asked him.

Have you ever considered whether this could be published?

Fang Yuan thought for a moment,

"I really didn't think about it at first. When I was writing the first draft in my dormitory at the Central Academy of Drama, it was purely because I had that story in my mind and wanted to write it down."

I didn't even consider it "literature"—it's just a story about Bella and Edward. I wanted to see them meet, I wanted to see them fall in love, I wanted to see them face those dangers.

I wrote it just to make myself happy.

Later, Ellie read it and said it could be published, so I started revising it in that direction.

"For your own pleasure." Zhu Weilian repeated this sentence and nodded.

"This is what I mean by 'writing for ordinary people'."

You're not trying to cater to the market, nor are you trying to please a particular editor; you're simply trying to tell the story in your heart.

The best literature is often created in this way.

Fang Yuan was silent for a moment, then said something.

Zhu Weilian remembered that sentence for a long time, and it was even mentioned many years later at a memorial event under the banyan tree.

Fang Yuan said, "But I think there's a potential problem with 'ordinary people's writing'—"

If everyone is writing about themselves, then who will provide things that go beyond personal experience?

I studied drama at the Central Academy of Drama, and my teachers taught us a fundamental principle:

You should write what you truly understand, but what you should strive for is to understand what you didn't understand before.

If literature only stays at the level of "I write what I feel," it's a circle;

If literature can touch the hearts of others through "my hands," then it is a true path.

The "Life, Feelings, and Reflections" under the banyan tree is a good starting point, but it is not the end.

Are you willing to take on that heavier responsibility?

Can we guide ordinary people's writing towards a deeper understanding of others and the world?

The living room fell silent for a moment.

Ellie looked at Fang Yuan and frowned slightly, as if signaling him to "watch his words."

But William Zhu's expression wasn't one of being offended; rather, it was one of seriousness as if he had been hit where it hurt.

"You're right," William Zhu said slowly.

"This is indeed a question I've been thinking about but haven't quite figured out yet."

Opening the area under the banyan tree to everyone is a gesture.

But what happens after the opening up? Among the massive influx of submissions, many are emotional outbursts or mere diary entries; truly literary works remain a minority.

We cannot simply be a 'publication platform'; we should also take on the responsibility of 'guiding' and 'cultivating'.

This is why I'm organizing an online original literature competition—to promote online works to offline publication, and to let more people see good works.

It's not because I want to make anyone famous, but because only when good works receive the attention and rewards they deserve will more people be willing to write "good" works, not just "their own."

Fang Yuan looked at him, and there was something different in his eyes.

It wasn't just casual conversation between two people of the same age, but a serious feeling of mutual appreciation.

"Mr. Zhu," Fang Yuan said, "is there anything I can do for the banyan tree?"

William Zhu laughed, "Go back and finish writing the sequel to Twilight first, don't keep us waiting too long."

"That's not what I meant," Fang Yuan said earnestly.

"I mean, write a column, or a short story, specifically for Banyan Tree."

William Zhu was stunned.

He hadn't expected the young man to make such a suggestion.

This is not a business collaboration, nor a resource exchange; it is simply a writer's tribute to another writer.

Ellie nodded slightly beside her.

She was Fang Yuan's agent, but at this moment, she knew that this was not a business decision, but Fang Yuan's instinctive reaction as an author.

"Okay," William Zhu said. "Welcome."

He poured Fang Yuan another cup of tea.

The sunlight outside the window had begun to shift westward, its rays changing from golden yellow to orange-red, falling on the tea tray on the coffee table and making the surface of the purple clay teapot appear warm and translucent.

"Fang Yuan," Zhu Weilian suddenly said.

"You said you studied drama at the Central Academy of Drama, so you should know that the core of drama is not technique or structure, but characters."

If a character is successfully portrayed, the play will stand on its own.

The same goes for Banyan Tree. The reason it's gaining attention isn't because of how much code I've written or how fast the servers are, but because of the people who write on it—ordinary people—each one of them standing vividly in front of you, telling you about their lives, their feelings, and their thoughts.

This is the vitality under the banyan tree.

Fang Yuan picked up the cup of tea, took a sip, and although the tea had gone cold, the flavor was still there.

"That's why it's called Under the Banyan Tree," he said.

"Yes," William Zhu said. "The banyan tree has deep roots and wide branches. Anyone who comes by at any time can sit under this tree, enjoy the shade, and chat for a while."

It doesn't reject anyone.

That afternoon they talked for a long time, until the sun completely sank into the Pacific Ocean, until Ellie checked her watch three times, and until William Zhu's purple clay teapot had brewed four infusions of tea that had finally lost all color.

As they were saying goodbye, Zhu Weilian stood at the door and said something to Fang Yuan:

"I'll be waiting for you under the banyan tree."

"I will," Fang Yuan said.

On the way back, Ellie drove.

Fang Yuan sat in the passenger seat, thinking about the expression on the face of the person sitting opposite him, their words, and the invisible banyan tree.

I felt a jolt in my heart as I was struck by a completely new literary concept.

Ellie glanced at it. "What are you thinking about?"

Fang Yuan didn't even look up. "I'm thinking about my first draft for Rongshuxia."