Back to 80: My literary life.

Chapter 922 Nobel Prize in Literature
This is how I spent 2007.

Fang Le successfully graduated from Stanford University with an undergraduate degree, and then continued his graduate studies, studying for a master's and doctoral degree. He said he would try to get his diploma in five years and then return to China to start a business.

Fang Minghua did not express his own opinion and just let him do whatever he wanted.

Fang Rui also graduated from the directing department of Yandian University. She did not, as people in the industry said, rely on her parents' status in the film and television industry to make movies.

Instead, he joined Yenching People's Art Theatre and became a disciple of the famous director Gu Wei. He started out as a basic assistant director and it seemed that he really wanted to make drama his lifelong career.

Song Tangtang is still busy every day, leaving home early and returning late.

Shengshi Film and Television has completed the layout of traditional film and television and theater chains, and is now entering the field of online video. It is in contact with the Tudou team and is preparing to acquire it and make it a subsidiary of Shengshi Film and Television.

Fang Minghua devoted herself to writing novels at home.

Time quickly came to 2008.

This year is unforgettable for the Chinese people.

The Chinese people wiped away their tears and began to welcome the Olympics again, and the fireworks were particularly brilliant.

This summer and early autumn, Fang Minghua basically stayed in Xiangyugou Village, Fengyukou.

Three years ago, Fang Minghua bought a house from a local farmer, demolished it and rebuilt it into a house with white walls, blue bricks and a red tile roof. It still has an L-shaped layout, with a living room, bedroom, study, bathroom and toilet.

The wall is still made of fence, and the fence is covered with morning glories.

He also hired someone to dig a well in the southeast corner of his yard and connected a water pipe. Of course, a septic tank, sewer system, and a solar water heater on the roof were also essential.

Most of the yard was hardened with cement, and the original vegetable patch was turned into a small garden, where Fang Minghua planted roses, chrysanthemums, peonies and the like. The vegetable patch on the hillside behind the house was also used to plant garlic sprouts, onions, leeks and the like.

The city of Xijing is extremely hot and stuffy in summer, but it is exceptionally cool here.

Song Tangtang works during the week and sometimes comes to spend the weekend with him. Of course, she would not forget to drive over a lot of daily necessities.

Fang Minghua gets up at six o'clock every morning, washes up, and jogs along the mountain village path, breathing the fresh air and feeling particularly cool.

He also cooked his own meals, including porridge, steamed buns,臊子面, and oil-splashed noodles. Occasionally, he would cook his own rice. Since he was alone, he didn't care too much. Sometimes, the party secretary and the village chief would invite him to their homes to drink and eat meat. The wine was also ordinary, just the very cheap Taibai liquor, and Fang Minghua would not refuse.

I would go out for a walk at night, and spend most of the rest of the time writing.

"A Generation of Romantics" is not long, only about 400,000 words, but Fang Minghua spent a full year and a half on it and revised it three times, and it was finally completed today.

Sitting at the computer in the study, I read the last paragraph of the novel, which describes how two families, after their respective ups and downs, finally reunited in Xijing on New Year's Day of the millennium.

The young men of that time have gradually grown old, but the two children have grown up and are in their prime. The two families sit in the living room, eating and drinking together, and it is very lively.

A program was playing on the TV on the cabinet, and a female announcer was saying in a passionate voice: "The first spring of the new century is coming towards us."

In the living room and on TV, people's faces are filled with happy smiles.

After reading the last paragraph, Fang Minghua let out a long sigh.

He finished writing.

He took a sip of the slightly cold tea, took out his cell phone and dialed a number. It was Xia Juanjuan.

"Xiao Xia, I've finished writing my novel. I'll send the electronic version to your email address. You can serialize it under the banyan tree."

"Great!" Xia Juanjuan's happy voice came from the other end of the phone, and she asked again, "Are all the stories serialized?"

"Yeah." "Then what about President Su? Shengshi Books is going to publish your novel in full. If we serialize the entire text." Xia Juanjuan sounded a little worried.

According to the agreement reached between Rongshuxia and Shengshi Books, the copyright of physical books published by Shengshi Books belongs to Shengshi Books. However, Rongshuxia can select some of the essence and publish it on the Rongshuxia website, but the total number of words cannot exceed one tenth of the novel, otherwise it will be an infringement.

Fang Minghua smiled and said, "I'll use my privilege this time. Don't worry about it. I'll tell Su Bin."

"OK!"

Fang Minghua hung up the phone, walked out of the study and came to the yard.

It is now October, the golden autumn.
It is now around five o'clock in the afternoon. The sun has already set and the whole mountain village is very quiet. Occasionally, there are a few dogs barking. The small daisies beside the yard have bloomed, dotted like stars, and look very beautiful.

Fang Minghua likes to stand in the yard and enjoy the scenery.

This reminded him of Meng Haoran's poem:

Kaixuan noodle farm, the wine talk mulberry.

After the Chongyang Day, the chrysanthemum will come.

It is autumn now, which is a good time to appreciate chrysanthemums.

At this moment, the sound of a car approaching from afar broke the tranquility of the mountain village. Fang Minghua turned his head and saw a black Passat driving along the cement road from the mountain pass. The car soon arrived at the gate of his yard.

He saw the license plate number and recognized it as a car belonging to the Provincial Writers Association.

So he went to open the gate, a car drove into the yard, and three people got out of the car.

Chen Zhongshi, Lu Yao, and Jia Pingwa.

"What are you doing? Are you here to play mahjong?"

Fang Minghua asked curiously.

Ever since Fang Minghua built this small courtyard in Xiangyugou Village, friends often come over to play fishing, playing mahjong, eating and drinking on weekends. It has become a farm stay.

Fang Minghua never refuses anyone who comes.

But he had a condition: "The visitors must cook their own food. He will provide the wine. The dishes at home are relatively simple. If you want to eat good food, you can bring it from the city."

Naturally, the majority of the people who came were friends from the Writers Association.

So when Fang Minghua saw these three people coming, he asked this question, but he felt a little strange in his heart because today was not the weekend.

Lu Yao is a lazy person like himself, but Chen Zhongshi and Jia Pingwa are still quite busy.

One is in charge of the Provincial Writers Association, one is the principal leader of the Municipal Writers Association, and they have a long list of part-time jobs and are all very busy.

Unexpectedly, Jia Pingwa laughed and said, "We are not playing mahjong today. We came here specially to congratulate you. We want to have a drink! Look, we brought food to go with the wine."

After saying that, Jia Pingwa told the driver to open the trunk of the car, put the cooked food and snacks they had prepared into several plastic bags, and take them out to the kitchen.

Fang Minghua was very surprised: "What are you congratulating me for? Birthday? We already agreed that neither of us will celebrate birthdays."

"It's not a birthday, it's congratulations on winning this year's Nobel Prize in Literature!"

(End of this chapter)