My era, 1979!

Chapter 62 Did I offend you?
What's so clever about it?

In 1979, China was at a crossroads of "destruction" and "construction".

What was broken was the cultural discontinuity and intellectual stagnation of a special period;
It establishes new academic norms and new creative directions.

Zhu Dongrun's question, in essence, is to ask "what to establish" and "how to establish" after "breaking down";
Xu Chengjun's answer provided a specific path for "establishing the roots of tradition and ushering in a new era".

Amazing, isn't it?
That's amazing! It's not something a 20-year-old should say.

However, these days the "genius theory" is popular, and Zhu Lao, who has been in charge of the Qing Dynasty and is now in the present, has seen his fair share of "prodigies".

There's nothing to be surprised about.

But does this diminish the brilliance of the answer?

Of course it won't have any impact.

Old Zhu seemed to want to ask something or say something.

After thinking about it, I realized I shouldn't say too much before the interview, so I kept some things to myself.

Then, changing the subject, he picked up the manuscript and turned to the section on "Western theoretical colonization," his tone becoming more serious: "Now the academic community loves to adopt the framework of Western theories, but you in the countryside came up with the idea of ​​using 'metaphor and allegory' to write something more moving than 'subconscious,' that's remarkable."

"Just like the carved wooden windows in this conference room, the latticework is the wisdom of our ancestors, but the light that shines through is of the present. Tradition and reality should coexist in this way."

Xu Chengjun responded with a "Yes".

That didn't give him a chance to speak.

What could he say? Director Zhu was clearly talking to himself and didn't seem interested in listening to his thoughts.

Why go up there and feel uncomfortable?
Do you turn the table when the boss picks up food? Do you refill the boss's glass when it's empty?
Seeing Xu Chengjun's restrained expression, he took off his glasses and wiped them with the corner of his clothes, his smile deepening: "Don't be nervous. Fudan University's recommendations are for people who can 'grow their thoughts in the soil,' not bookworms who can only recite literary theories."

"In your poem 'Foxtail Grass on the Hillside,' you wrote, 'They don't need to bloom or bear fruit; they stand in the gaps of time.' This respect for 'ordinary power' makes me believe you are more confident than I am in passing this interview."

More confident than you?

So you have a lot of confidence in me?

Xu Chengjun was delighted.

"Speak freely during the interview. Remember, the essence of literature must be Chinese, and the confidence must come from the land beneath your feet. You already hold this key."

Cultural confidence!
We understand!
The second person to arrive was Professor Su Liancheng.

I don't know this person well from his previous life, but according to Professor Sun, he was also a great scholar of traditional literary theory.

He was in his forties, with a fair complexion, handsome features, and a height of over 40 meters, which was in no way inferior to Xu Chengjun's.

He was indeed handsome and dashing.

Coincidentally, just as this gentleman entered, Su Manshu came in to deliver a page of annotations to him.

Her face flushed, and she spoke softly, "These are some academic annotations by Mr. Zhang. I organized them at home last night and rushed to bring them to you."

Xu Chengjun was taken aback and was about to thank him.

Then the girl ran off in a flash.

He was puzzled; this was unlike the girl's usual personality.

It seems like they're afraid of something?
Perhaps because there were so many renowned professors present, he was a little reserved.

When I looked up again, I saw that Professor Su's face, which was originally fair, was as black as the bottom of a pot.

The look in his eyes as he looked at Xu Chengjun was quite unfriendly.

Xu Chengjun was even more puzzled. "What the hell did I do to offend you?"

Are we acquainted?

Zhang Peiheng and Wang Shuizhao accompanied Jia Zhifang.

When the wooden door to the conference room was pushed open again, the morning light had already covered half of the wall.

The first to enter was Zhang Peiheng, dressed in a dark gray Zhongshan suit with the collar buttoned up tightly, and an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

His shoulders and back were ramrod straight, yet he exuded an invisible sense of oppression.

His brows hadn't relaxed since he entered the room; he looked extremely serious.

His black-rimmed glasses were polished to a shine, and his gaze swept across the manuscripts on the table, especially the thesis in Zhu Dongrun's hand, his eyes sharp.

Following closely behind was Wang Shuizhao, whose expression was completely different from Zhang Peiheng's tense demeanor. He wore a slightly worn off-white shirt, with the cuffs casually rolled up to his forearms, revealing a worn-out Shanghai brand watch on his wrist.

He was slightly overweight and had a friendly smile on his face.

When their gaze fell on Xu Chengjun, it was with a hint of casual curiosity, as if they were looking at an interesting exhibit rather than an interviewee.

When he entered, he was holding a flipped-through copy of "Selected Annotations of Song Poetry" in his hand. He casually placed it on the corner of the table, then found a seat next to Zhu Dongrun and sat down, crossing his legs as if he were attending a tea party rather than reviewing papers.

The last one to enter was Jia Zhifang.

His back was more hunched than I had imagined, and every step he took was heavy and sluggish.

He wore a faded blue cotton jacket, the cuffs were frayed, and the collar was askew, but he didn't seem to care.

He didn't look at anyone, only staring at the cracks in the bricks on the ground. He moved slowly to the innermost empty seat, holding onto the edge of the table and sitting down, his back bent into an arc, his hands folded on his knees.

Jia Zhifang's imprisonment left him with this hunched appearance in his later years.

"The teacher arrived early."

Zhang Peiheng spoke first, his voice low, "Is this thesis by this educated youth comrade? Does it have any originality?"

When he said the word "novelty," his brow remained furrowed, clearly indicating a scrutinizing gaze.

Zhu Dongrun smiled and waved his hand: "Peiheng is still the same as ever, he treats the manuscript like he's met a debater. Come, let me introduce you, this is Xu Chengjun from Fengyang, the author of 'The Granary'."

Like a gentle breeze, it relieved a lot of Xu Chengjun's pressure.

Wang Shuizhao looked up from the book, twirling a pen between her fingers and laughing: "I've heard about it before. The poem reprinted in Guangming Daily is quite good. My daughter copied the line 'Moss flowers are as small as grains of rice' several times."

His gaze swept over Xu Chengjun for a moment, then returned to the pages of his book, as if saying another word would be too much of a burden.

Professor Su, who was standing next to me, didn't say anything, but for some reason, he seemed a little uncomfortable.

Zhu Dongrun turned to Jia Zhifang, his tone softening slightly: "Zhifang, with you here, the interview process is finally complete."

Jia Zhifang finally raised his eyes, his gaze cloudy yet holding a glimmer of light. He didn't speak, only nodded slightly.

Xu Chengjun stood at the end of the table, thinking that he was well prepared and would not be moved.

But when I actually saw these names that I had only seen in literature theory classes and academic exhibitions in my previous life...
He was actually a little "nervous".

He cursed under his breath, "Pathetic."

Zhu Dongrun seemed to see through his nervousness and gestured with his chin: "Xiao Xu, don't stand there. Sit down, it's time to start."

As the clock struck nine, everyone's eyes turned to Old Zhu.

Old Zhu said with a smile, "Let Pei Heng preside over this interview! If you have any opinions, you can always give them to Comrade Xu."

At this time, Professor Zhu had already begun to groom Zhang Peiheng as the successor of the Chinese Department at Fudan University.

In 80, Zhang Peiheng was promoted to professor, and soon after, he took over the position from Zhu Dongrun.

Zhang Peiheng didn't mince words. With a serious expression and scrutinizing gaze, he said directly, "Then let's officially begin this interview."

"Before we proceed with the process, I'd like to ask you a simple question."

"What exactly should a Chinese literature major study?"

It seems simple?
Stop kidding, it's not simple at all.

For later generations, who viewed literature as almost "metaphysics" in the eyes of many, it was clearly simple.

That's because the methodology was gradually improved over time!

But in 1979, even the revision of contemporary literary history had not yet begun!
Literary studies are still divided into left and right.

What is writing to many people in this era?
Feel the pain, face the pain, write about the pain.

How to write it?

If it hurts, just write it!

Does that make sense? Yes, it does.

Great works often originate from suffering.

But is this how you conduct an interview?
　It wasn't that I deliberately broke it off; it just happened to be a complete narrative!
　　
　
(End of this chapter)