Back to 80: My Literary Life

"At that time, I remember that I was in the third grade of elementary school. The school once organized our class to visit an exhibition of suffering. We cried loudly under the guidance of the teacher. In order to let the teacher see my performance, I was reluctant to wipe my face tears.”

"Haha, you are very thoughtful." Yu Hua smiled.

Mo Yan laughed "hehe" twice and continued: "While I was crying, I suddenly noticed that several classmates secretly wiped saliva on their faces to pretend to be tears. There was also a classmate who didn't have a single tear on his face or mouth. He made no sound and did not cover his face with his hands. He looked at us with his eyes wide open, showing surprise or confusion."

"When I saw it, what was going on? Do you know what I did after the visit?" Mo Yan asked.

"You're not going to report that classmate who faked crying, are you?" Yu Hua asked tentatively.

"You are right, so I reported this classmate's behavior to the teacher. As a result, the teacher severely criticized the student, and things got worse and worse. As a result, the classmate was unable to study and was taken back by his parents. Home."

"Look at what you're doing, it's not authentic."

"Yeah, I didn't understand much when I was young, but now that I'm older, I understand a lot. I went home last year to visit my relatives during the Chinese New Year and visited the teacher who taught me back then. I felt quite regretful when I talked about it."

"Do you know how my teacher would answer?"

"What do you say?" Yu Hua praised him loyally.

"My teacher said, actually, you don't have to blame yourself too much. That day, there were more than a dozen people who came to him to talk about this matter!"

"so much?!"

"yes,

"And my classmate is already dead, and he doesn't even have a chance to apologize." At the end of the sentence, Mo Yan sighed.

"So I later summed it up in one sentence: when everyone is crying, some people should be allowed not to cry. When crying becomes a performance, some people should be allowed not to cry."

"I am more open-minded about life and death than you are." Yu Hua continued his topic: "I will also tell you a story about myself."

"Oh, you said?"

"I had a very good playmate when I was a kid. This guy liked to brag and wear flowery shorts. But one day he was beaten to death by his father."

"Beat to death by his father?" Mo Yan was a little shocked after hearing this.

"Yes, this guy is very naughty. My father often beats him. But that day he missed and punched him in the neck. Later, when I studied medicine, I found out that the place was the carotid artery, and he stopped breathing on the spot."

"You also know that in those days it was very common for someone to die in the countryside. No one was sad when talking about it, but his father felt unlucky."

"My playmate's family has six children. He is the fourth eldest. He is neither a senior nor a junior. His posthumous affairs were also handled in a very sloppy manner. He was hastily buried by the pond. The grave was not high and there was no tombstone. He was exposed to wind and rain for several years. After the beating, the small grave was absorbed by the earth, and even the boy disappeared. Just like that, everyone forgot about him, and he disappeared completely."

"Even I couldn't find the place where he was buried when I went back last year."

"No wonder the Argentinian poet Borges once said this: When a person dies, it is like water disappearing into the water."

Just beside the summer garden, the evening breeze was blowing, and the two of them were chatting casually about their own stories.

"What are you two talking about?" Suddenly a voice interrupted their chat. The two looked up and saw that it was Fang Minghua, walking over from another path.

"Editor Fang."

The two greeted.

"Editor Fang, Mo Yan and I each told a story." Yu Hua and Fang Minghua met in Shanghai in 1983. Yu Hua also laid the floor in his room, so they were familiar with each other. He smiled at Fang Minghua. said.

tell a story?

In later generations, both of them were masters of telling stories, no, telling jokes.

Fang Minghua suddenly became interested.

"What are you talking about? Can you let me hear it?"

So the two of them each repeated the story.

Damn it!

Isn’t this the two people’s literary views?

However, Fang Minghua didn't say much. Both of them are still young and in the early stages of creation. There is no need for him to give anyone a final conclusion.

Of course he had a purpose for coming to see the two of them, and he was mainly looking for Mo Yan.

"Mo Yan, your "Transparent Carrot" published in "Chinese Writers" last year was very shocking and received high praise from the outside world. Have you written any new novels recently?"

"Not yet." Mo Yan answered cautiously.

"Editor Fang, let me expose it." Yu Hua, who was standing next to him, suddenly smiled and said, "Mo Yan said he is planning a novella."

"It's just brewing, I didn't write it." Mo Yan hurriedly explained: "Just now, Editor Fang asked whether I had written it or not!"

"Oh, can you tell me the general idea?" Fang Minghua asked.

"It tells the story of the local people's resistance against Japan in our hometown of Gaomi, and is adapted from historical data." Mo Yan said.

Isn't this "Red Sorghum"?

"Mo Yan, after you finish writing, can you submit your manuscript to "Yanhe" for me to read?" Fang Minghua asked.

Mo Yan hesitated.

"Editor Fang, it's not that I don't want to submit "Yanhe", it's just that Zhu Wei, the editor of "People's Literature", came to me some time ago and said that if I have anything written, I can show it to him."

"Have you signed any agreement?"

"That's not true."

Zhu Wei, I'm sorry.

Boss Wang Meng, you are now a minister and no longer the editor-in-chief of "People's Literature", and you will not care about these trivial matters.

Fang Minghua muttered something in his heart and said with a smile.

"Mo Yan, our editorial department recently launched a cooperation agreement for outstanding young and middle-aged writers. I call it the Great God Agreement."

Fang Minghua told Ge Fei again.

Mo Yan was a little moved, but still hesitant.

"What about the novel?" Mo Yan thought of another question.

"Like People's Literature, our Yanhe magazine only publishes short and medium-length novels, so the agreement does not include novels." Fang Minghua patiently explained: "However, we can excerpt the highlights from your novels and publish them. This is actually a It’s just propaganda.”

This is true.

Mo Yan nodded.

"Also, if you sign the Great God Agreement, I can recommend your novels to foreign countries! Translations will be provided for free! Have you received the "Selected Works of Outstanding Chinese Pioneer Novel Writers" published by City Lights Publishing House in the United States?" Fang Minghua Another big killer weapon was used.

"Got it." Mo Yan said quickly.

Last year, Fang Minghua reached an agreement with Lawrence Ferlinghetti, poet and president of Los Angeles and City Lights Press, to publish novels by outstanding domestic avant-garde writers. The agreement has been implemented, with an initial printing of 30,000 copies priced at US$10 each.

Of course, this cannot be compared with the best-selling book. Lawrence Ferlinghetti paid 8% of the royalties according to the agreement, totaling 24,000 US dollars.

The average salary per writer is 2,400 yuan, not RMB, but US dollars!

According to the current exchange rate of one US dollar for 3.4 yuan, you can get 8160 yuan! After deducting personal income tax, it will be about 6,500 yuan.

This is equivalent to the royalties for a novel in China.

So now that Fang Minghua mentioned this, both of them showed gratitude on their faces.

Gain fame and fortune!

"Mo Yan, why are you hesitating? Look at how good the terms Editor Fang said are. Besides, "Yanhe" is not much worse than "People's Literature", right? Just sign it." Yu Hua next to him said: "I They’re all signed.”

"You signed it too?"

"Why are you lying to me? Editor Fang, right?"

"Yes, Yu Hua was the first to sign." Fang Minghua said, secretly applauding.

Yes, this assist is pretty good.

So Mo Yan happily agreed.