My era, 1979!

Chapter 48 Wu Dialect
Early in the morning, Wang Zengqi had already left with his briefcase, saying he was going to a meeting at the Federation of Literary and Art Circles.

Since his senior had gotten up, Xu Chengjun couldn't stay in bed any longer.

Then I got up and started packing my things.

I'm going to check out the Chinese Department at Fudan University later.

Mr. Zhu gave us plenty of time, but didn't specify a time. We might not be able to meet him when we get there, so this trip is probably just a scouting trip.

However, just in case, Xu Chengjun carefully checked the things he was going to bring to the interview.

He pulled the canvas bag to his lap and stuffed it first with the acceptance notice for his manuscript from "Anhui Literature".

"The headline that Lao Zhou secured by slamming his fist on the table must be placed at the very top to maintain the momentum."

Getting a front-page headline in a provincial-level literary magazine is no small feat, no matter the era.

He then pulled out the manuscript acceptance slip from Harvest magazine, saying, "Manuscripts accepted by Harvest are hard currency."

Harvest holds a towering position in Chinese literature.

Following this were three poems: "Time," which was included in the "Thirty New Talents" section of Anhui Literature; "Walking Towards the Light," published in Anhui Youth Daily; and "Foxtail Grass," which was not published. Also included was the short story "Calling Stars to Illuminate the Spring Breeze," published in Hefei Evening News.

In the few months since I transmigrated to the present, I haven't been idle.

Creating is hard, and life is tough!
As I straightened up, the morning light shone directly into the room.

Xu Chengjun straightened his shirt collar in front of the mirror and suddenly laughed: "Speaking of which, if future generations were to create a list of the strongest new literary figures of 79, I would definitely be on the list!"

Jiang Zilong, Lu Xinhua, Zhang Jie!
There wasn't a single one younger than him.

Next time I should wear a "Top Rookie" badge, so I can at least get a bigger piece of meat in the cafeteria!

If all else fails, a piece with the skin on will do!

Finally, Xu Chengjun stuffed a piece of Shanghai milk candy into his bag, then jokingly saluted at himself in the mirror: "Let's go, off to Fudan University to take down the boss!"

Bus route 93 travels through the streets and alleys of Shanghai.

The narration of the movie "The Wasted Times" describes this magical city as follows: "Shanghai in that era was probably the romantic city in everyone's heart."

A single sentence can evoke endless fantasies about old Shanghai: the bustling metropolis, the soft Wu dialect, the prosperity and charm.

The Shanghai outside the window has changed dramatically over the years, with its scenery and atmosphere now completely different.

The once bustling Bund has lost its extravagance from the Republic of China era.

Although the Bund's buildings still stand, it has lost its former glitz and glamour.
The Huangpu River docks remain bustling, and the figures of workers carrying sacks have lost their江湖 (jianghu, a term referring to the world of martial arts and chivalry) air, but gained a sense of the simplicity of collective labor.

The plane trees along the streets still provide shade, but the shop windows no longer display exquisite Western-style dresses and cheongsams.
In the Shikumen alleyways, the greetings between neighbors are filled with the warmth of everyday life, and the tension of the gang disputes of the past is nowhere to be seen.

The air was no longer filled with the smells of perfume and alcohol, but with the smoke from burning coal stoves, the ringing of bicycle bells, and the whistles of factory engines.

Xu Chengjun's body rose and fell with the bumps of the bus.

Amidst a flurry of thoughts about Shanghai's past, present, and future, countless creative ideas flowed like loose threads.
It seems like we've caught them.
It's as if they suddenly got lost.

I can't exactly write "Shanghai Bund".

The elusive thoughts made him furious.

He suddenly remembered that when he left the guesthouse that morning, a taxi suddenly appeared, and he tentatively asked about the price.
The driver glanced at him from behind the steering wheel, his brows immediately furrowing. He snapped, "Out-of-towner, huh? Asking about the price? The starting fare is two yuan and fifty cents, plus fifty cents per kilometer! Are you taking this or not? If not, I'm leaving!"

When Xu Chengjun's temper flared up, he spat and turned to leave.

It's not that I think it's too expensive, it's that I think the driver is rude!
I switched to bus route 93; green travel started in 1979!
Such a little irritation so early in the morning!
In 79, Fudan University’s main campus was located on Handan Road in YP District, and it has remained unchanged ever since.

It is about 10 kilometers away from the Federation of Literary and Art Circles Guesthouse.

A taxi ride costs about 8 yuan, so being a taxi driver these days is really a cool profession.

It takes about 45 minutes by bus to get to the vicinity of Fudan University, and then you have to walk for a while after getting off the bus.

Suddenly, bus No. 93 came to a loud stop at Handan Road Station.

He looked east along the road, and in the distance, the archway-style school gate stood in the shade of the trees.
The four gilded characters of "Fudan University" gleamed in the sunlight.

This calligraphy also has a story; it was personally inscribed by Marshal Chen, and it is both vigorous and unrestrained.

The Huashan Road school gate is an old-fashioned brick and wood archway, with some of the paint peeling off the edges, revealing the light yellow wood underneath.

The iron railings on both sides were covered with ivy, and several students in blue school uniforms were pushing their bicycles inside, the books strapped to the back seats brushing against their trouser legs. A red banner with black lettering was pasted on the gateposts: "Marching towards science, striving for the Four Modernizations," the ink still looking fresh.

Two guards in dark blue uniforms were sitting on bamboo chairs in the gatehouse, fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans, their eyes scanning the people coming and going.

Seeing Xu Chengjun stand still with his canvas bag, one of the old men wearing a red armband stood up, slapped his palm with a palm-leaf fan, and asked, "Comrade, what are you doing here?"

"Hello sir, I'm Xu Chengjun from Anhui, here for an interview at the Chinese Department." Xu Chengjun quickly pulled out a letter of introduction from the Provincial Department of Education and an interview letter from Fudan University.

It's a pity it's Fudan University.

If you were at Peking University, you might meet Zhou Ming, the famous writer from Beijing and a security guard at the university.

It's such a pity!

"From Anhui?"

The old man returned the letter of introduction to him and pointed to the path inside the gate, "Go in, past the big lawn, the building with the red brick wall is the Chinese Department office building, there's a sign hanging at the entrance. Don't wander around inside, some students stay on campus during the holidays."

Xu Chengjun thanked him softly, and as he stepped into the school gate, the asphalt road beneath his feet suddenly felt a little cool.

The shade of the trees filtered the sunlight into shimmering gold, which fell gently to the ground.

The wind on campus carries a scholarly air.

The plane trees lining both sides of the road provide ample shade, their shadows weaving a net on the ground.

Several students who stayed on campus walked by quickly, carrying books. The cuffs of their blue cloth shirts were rolled up to their elbows, and they were muttering things like "Lu Xun's essay style" and "the narrative structure of 'Dream of the Red Chamber'".

There were two or three people sitting on the lawn, some taking notes, others listening to English broadcasts on radios, the buzzing of the static mixed with the distant tolling of the library bells, each chime striking a chord in their hearts.

On campus, the new Central Courtyard, the Central Courtyard, and the new Upper Courtyard are connected together, forming the core area for teaching humanities and basic disciplines.

Xu Chengjun's destination, the Chinese Department of Fudan University, is hidden in the Xianzhou Hall in this area.

It has a very ethereal name, and in later generations it has been turned into the school history museum.

After asking for directions the whole way, we finally found it.

The Xianzhou Pavilion, built in 1979, exudes a classical Chinese charm.

The entire piece is vermilion red, and the symmetrical layout along the central axis exudes a solemn and orderly feel.

The iron Chinese-style lattice windows are exquisitely patterned, and the interior features carved beams and painted pillars with colorful flowers and figures; the corridors are winding and looping, the eaves are high and the four corner eaves curve upwards like birds spreading their wings.

No one stopped them at the door.

Xu Chengjun walked up the stairs, following the instructions in the interview letter that he needed to go to room 410 to report to the academic affairs office.

I just reached the third-floor stairwell.

But then a faint, indistinct singing voice drifted over.

Walk a little closer
I could make out that it was a Wu dialect folk song; the sound wasn't loud, but it was very captivating.

The soft, gentle Wu dialect.

It has a soft, trembling quality, but it's not an intentional display of tenderness; it's the inherent moisture of Jiangnan that permeates one's heart, making one feel damp inside.

I have a past relationship.

Sing it to the gentlemen of La,
Gentlemen, please calm down and quiet your minds.

Let me sing a song about Wuxi.

I will sing it carefully until the very end, and then let you all hear it.

Tiny Wuxi City

From Pangu to the present day,
There are four city gates in total, located in the east, west, south, and north.

By the third year of the Xuantong reign,

The new one was built at the end.

"Light, the Gate of Restoration!"

　"Wuxi Scenery," you can search for it on Douyin. It's a folk song in the Wu dialect, without fixed lyrics. Also, this book hasn't been doing well lately, quite poorly. I was a bit depressed a couple of days ago, feeling like my efforts were going to waste. But whenever I felt like giving up, seeing the comments and monthly votes told me that some readers were still supporting me. Then I realized it's just a part-time job, and I wasn't initially doing it for the sake of results or money. Thinking about it, I've come to terms with it. Besides, if I were really doing it for results, I wouldn't have written this style and with this subject matter. Why bother with all this "original" stuff? Copying books is so much easier. What to do? I just have to convince myself. But it's okay, if this book stops, there probably won't be any readers left. If more people read it, I'll write a longer version; if not, I'll write a shorter one. But as long as someone supports me, I'll keep writing, even if it's just one person. I'm too lazy to ask for votes anymore. If you think it's okay, vote; if not, criticize.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)