1980 My literary era

November in the north is the beginning of winter. If the weather is sunny and windless, it is very warm.

Unfortunately, today is a cloudy day, and the north wind is blowing, biting into people's necks, collars, and cuffs. After standing outside for a long time, the cotton-padded clothes on my body are no longer enough.

In Xijiang Village, Baqiao District, Xi'an, an old man stood on the Bahe beach. He had a cigarette in his mouth and watched the dead grass in the river bank being blown by the wind from west to east.

He looked up at the sky again. The morning radio said that there would be snow today. He had been holding it in for half a day, but it hadn't snowed yet.

There is no way to get it right every time!

"Old Cheng!"

Hearing a voice in the distance, Cheng Zhongshi looked up and saw two figures waving to him not far away. Cheng Zhongshi trotted over excitedly.

Lin Weimin and He Qizhi came closer, and Cheng Zhongshi felt reassured when he looked at them, "Here we come, come in quickly! The wind is really strong today!"

A few people chatted and laughed as they entered Cheng Zhongshi's old house. It was no different from when they came a few years ago. Cheng Zhongshi's wife poured a bowl of tea for them.

He Qizhi joked: "Old Cheng, I think you are in good spirits!"

After many writers have finished writing a work that has been exhausting their efforts, it must be like a serious illness. Not only their energy and spirit, but also their bodies are drained.

It took Cheng Zhongshi six full years to write this novel, and one can imagine the amount of effort and energy he put into it.

Cheng Zhongshi waved his hand and said: "It took me a few days. When I just finished writing, I felt that my eyes were black, my brain went blank, and I fell into a state of unconsciousness. I was confused for a long time."

At this time, several days had passed since the novel was completed, and Cheng Zhongshi had slowly withdrawn from the world of creation.

After chatting for a while, Cheng Zhongshi took out a novel manuscript.

Manuscript paper has a standard format, and Cheng Zhongzhong uses the 500-square manuscript paper most commonly used by the editorial department of "Contemporary".

He Qizhi was surprised just by looking at the thickness of the manuscript.

"Old Cheng, you wrote a big book!"

Lin Weimin smiled and said: "It took six years to sharpen a sword. If I didn't write a big book, I'd be sorry it took me so long!"

Cheng Zhongshi handed the manuscript into Lin Weimin's hands. The thousands of pages of manuscript paper began to feel heavy, and the edges of the manuscript paper had been worn out from years of practice.

This place is filled with six years of sleepless nights and exhaustive thinking by Cheng Zhongshi.

Lin Weimin couldn't wait to read the manuscript, while Cheng Zhongshi and He Qizhi were talking to the side.

"What Bai Jiaxuan later prided himself on was that he married seven women in his life..."

After an unknown amount of time, Cheng Zhongshi's voice came to my ears.

Lin Weimin suddenly pulled away from the book and raised his head, "It's noon. There's nothing to eat at home. I'll give you some noodles."

"good."

It is Cheng Zhongshi's habit to cook noodles to entertain guests.

Cheng Zhongshi's wife was busy for a while and brought over several bowls of noodles, each with two poached eggs and chopped green onions.

Slurping noodles, He Qizhi asked Lin Weimin: "Weimin, what do you think of the novel?"

Hearing this, Cheng Zhongshi also stopped what he was doing, chewed the noodles slowly, and stared at Lin Weimin.

"I just read the beginning." Lin Weimin threw a clove of garlic into his mouth, "However, this beginning is extraordinary, so I can't go wrong."

Lin Weimin's praise made Cheng Zhongshi grin. He couldn't help but talk to Lin Weimin about the difficulties in the writing process.

"White Deer Plain" is a heavy epic, and the preparation work for writing this novel alone took more than two years.

Since participating in the PEN Conference of "Contemporary" in the summer of 1983, Cheng Zhongshi has been traveling to the suburban counties around Xi'an to conduct social surveys, consult county annals, party history, literary and historical materials, and study various books on the history of Guanzhong.

This thing sounds simple, but only those who have experienced it know the hardships involved.

Cheng Zhongshi knew that his novel would not be finished in a "short burst". He originally planned for himself three years, hoping that he could finish this big job calmly within three years.

Unfortunately, he still underestimated the difficulty of this matter.

As he consulted more and more information and thought more and more deeply, he found that there was not enough time at all. He gave himself three years of creative time and almost didn't even have enough time to consult the information.

“I really didn’t expect that the preparation would take so long. I originally planned to write it in three years, but it’s almost three years and I haven’t even started it yet.

My temperament is timid and public, just like a peasant woman steaming steamed buns. Remember to lift the lid of the pot before they are cooked.

Seeing that time is running out, I feel anxious.

Later, I could only tell myself that it didn’t matter, it was just something to support my head. At worst, I would write this novel for the rest of my life. I would fight with him to the end. "

When Cheng Zhongshi said this, Lin Weimin and He Qizhi couldn't help laughing, "Old Cheng, you are really determined!"

"We're pushed there, there's no other way!" Cheng Zhongshi said, and continued what he just said, "Fortunately, my draft went smoothly beyond expectations. I started writing in 1986, and by the end of last year, I had a draft of over 400,000 words. It's done, much faster than I thought.

I have been tinkering with it for nearly a year now. These three years have probably been the year in which I have written the most since I started creating professionally, and it has also been the year in which I have the highest amount of daily activity.

This year’s Spring Festival will be more peaceful! "

After Cheng Zhongshi said these words, the ridges on his face seemed to relax, and the huge burden in his heart was relieved. He added: "I have thought about it. If this novel cannot be published, I will not write books in the future. I have worked so hard to write something like this, but if it cannot be published, it means that I really have no talent in this matter, and I will not be able to make a living! I will raise chickens in the future!"

Lin Weimin said: "I haven't finished reading the manuscript yet, so I can't tell you whether it can be published, but you have to believe in your own efforts over the years."

Cheng Zhongshi explained: "That's not what I meant. Don't feel any pressure when reading the manuscript. In fact, my novel is a bit 'old'. Although I have high hopes for it, you are the ones reading it... "

In the 1980s, the Chinese people in the 1980s had green eyes after years of hunger. They read novels eagerly, not only to read emotions and resonances, but also to read new thoughts, new concepts, new forms, and new techniques.

When Lu Yao's "The Ordinary World" was sent to the editorial department, the first impression many colleagues felt after reading it was that it was "slow" and "wordy". Cheng Zhongshi and Lu Yao are both from Shaanxi, and both created their works based on their hometowns. It is a heavy work, and Cheng Zhongshi is afraid that readers who see this book will think it is outdated.

Lin Weimin smiled and said: "Don't think about these useless things. It's almost the 1990s. From now on, it will be an era of pragmatism. The most important thing is that the novels are good-looking!"

His comfort made Cheng Zhongshi feel a little relieved.

After chatting at Cheng Zhongshi's house for several hours, Lin Weimin and He Qizhi had to catch a train in the afternoon, so Cheng Zhongshi sent them outside the village.

At the beach of Bahe River, Lin Weimin said to Cheng Zhongshi: "Okay, Lao Cheng, don't see me off. The weather is very cold. Go back!"

"It's okay. I didn't pick you up when I came. I always have to see you off once. I'll take you to the station, which is still far away!" Cheng Zhongshi said stubbornly.

Xijiang Village is located in the suburbs of Xi'an. There is only one bus from the city to the suburbs. The terminal is located in front of a military academy, which is nearly three or four kilometers away from Xijiang Village.

The few of them chatted all the way and walked for nearly an hour before arriving at the station, just as the last train of the day was about to leave.

Lin Weimin and He Qizhi were about to buy tickets and get on the bus, when Cheng Zhongshi called Lin Weimin.

Lin Weimin looked back at him, Cheng Zhongshi nodded, and held Lin Weimin with his thick, veined hands. His eyes flashed with scorching light, and he said in a heavy tone: "Weimin, this novel...I will take it with you." My life is in your hands!"

The simple language conveyed an instruction as heavy as Mount Tai. Listening to these words, Lin Weimin's eyes ached and he felt that the manuscript in his bag weighed more than a thousand pieces.

"Don't worry!" Lin Weimin said solemnly.

The solemn atmosphere lasted for a moment, and Cheng Zhongshi let go of his hand, "Get in the car!"

Lin Weimin waved to him and turned around to get in the car.

After the car left, Cheng Zhongshi's figure still stood in the wind, and the sky was still so cloudy that it looked like it was going to snow.

Back in XA City, it was already dark.

Lin Weimin and He Qizhi checked into the guest house. After dinner, He Qizhi and Lin Weimin discussed the itinerary for the next few days.

"I'd better go back to Yanjing tomorrow, and I'll leave the matter of visiting the author to you!"

He Qizhi looked at Lin Weimin with shock on his face.

You are so stubborn!

Lin Weimin explained: "What, it's too dangerous to wander outside with the manuscript!"

The dry and pale explanation made He Qizhi look at Lin Weimin with a bit more contempt, "You pulled me out and now you want to go back alone?"

"You heard what Lao Cheng said. This manuscript is more important than his life. I'm also afraid of what might happen."

When Cheng Zhongshi was involved, He Qizhi felt a little better, but he still couldn't help complaining about Lin Weimin's unkindness.

"Okay, okay, I'll treat you to a treat when I go back!"

Lin Weimin's words made He Qizhi shut up.

The leadership is still very considerate!

"Bring the manuscript to me first!" He Qizhi said again.

"You can't finish watching it all night. It's so heart-breaking. Why bother?"

"My pleasure!"

Old comrade, your temper is really stubborn!

Lin Weimin gave him the manuscript.

Early the next morning, He Qizhi's eyes were red and he was reluctant to return the manuscript.

"White Deer Plain" is a big book, and even if He Qizhi stayed up all night, he would still be unable to finish it.

"How about you leave later?"

Lin Weimin ignored He Qizhi's suggestion and took back the manuscript without mercy.

After breakfast, the two of them split up. Lin Weimin boarded the train back to Yanjing, while He Qizhi started his free trip in SX province.

When we returned to Yanjing, a light snowfall had just fallen on the streets, and the roads were dirty after a car rolled over them.

Lin Weimin first took a car back to the Chinese Literature Society, entered the editorial office in the back building, took out the manuscript of "White Deer Plain" and solemnly handed it to his colleagues.

"This manuscript is very beautiful. Don't lose it, otherwise Lao Cheng will have to fight for me!"

Colleagues eagerly took over the manuscript and did not take Lin Weimin's instructions to heart at all.

Everyone is curious about Cheng Zhongshi’s work, which took him six years to sharpen his sword.