1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 135 A glimpse of one spot reveals the whole leopard
In the deep winter of 1948 in Beijing, Mr. Ren returned to his house in a rickshaw. The housekeeper told him the news about his several girlfriends. Mr. Ren was neither happy nor sad.

He casually flipped through the rustling pages of the newspaper, and the housekeeper brought him a bowl of noodles with soybean paste. He quickly remembered that today was his birthday. "Forty-one years old!" This thought quickly flashed through his mind.

The housekeeper handed him a stack of neatly stacked letters. He took a lazily look at one of the letters. The handwriting on one of the letters was unfamiliar and it felt quite thick. There was no sender's address written on either the envelope or the letter paper, and there was not even a signature. He opened it with a knife and put it aside.

He poured fried sauce on the pot and mixed it with vegetables. Finally, he remembered the letter. It was about dozens of pages long and was written in the handwriting of a strange woman. It was very sloppy and more like a manuscript than a letter.

"You, have never known me." This sentence was written at the top, as a title. He was so surprised that he put down his chopsticks. Was this referring to him, or to an imaginary person? His curiosity was suddenly aroused. He put down the noodles and read the words one by one:

My son died yesterday. For this young life, I fought with death for three days and three nights and sat beside him for forty hours. At this moment, his intelligent black eyes just closed and his hands were clasped together and placed on his white shirt.

Now in this world, I only have you, and you know nothing, you have never known me. You are having fun, or flirting with others. I only have you, you have never known me, but I still love you.

I want to talk to you and tell you everything for the first time. My Mr. Ren, you who have never known me, I want you to know that my whole life has always belonged to you, and you know nothing about my life.

To be honest, my life only started the day I met you.

I was thirteen years old and lived in the same courtyard where you live now. You are in that courtyard right now, holding this letter in your hand. You certainly can no longer remember me, the widow of the elementary school teacher, and her underage skinny daughter. But I can clearly recall every detail, remember what everyone said about you, and remember the first time I heard your name.

How could I not remember it? Because that was when the world began for me.

Be patient, my Mr. Ren, and let me tell you everything from the beginning. I beg you to listen to me talk about myself for a quarter of an hour and don't get tired of it.

I have loved you all my life and I have never gotten tired of you.

"No, no more?"

Zhang Dening raised his head which had been buried deep in the ground.

A house filled with smoke, a gentleman holding a letter, a courtyard house in Beijing in 1930, and a thin 13-year-old girl
Click.

Just like turning off the TV, everything in front of her returned to nothingness. She refocused her eyes on Jiang Xian and asked hurriedly:

"Where's the back?"

"That's all you wrote?"

Zhang Dening was extremely anxious, but he soon calmed down.

Jiang Xian originally told her that he had only written a little bit, but she insisted on showing it to him.

"How does it feel?" Jiang Xian brought a chair and sat next to him, asking with some anticipation.

Zhang Dening sat in his seat, thinking about it for a long time, "You are quite good at writing from a woman's perspective. If you hadn't said it, I would have thought it was written by Teacher Zhang Jie."

This is her personal experience. As an editor, even if she only reads the beginning, she can get a glimpse of the whole picture and perceive the pros and cons of the manuscript.

The flavor of this text and the feeling it gave her were very similar to Zhang Jie's "Love, Cannot Be Forgotten", a novel that is clearly different from scar literature and reflective literature in terms of theme and content.

"The writing is very delicate and full of flavor! I feel it will be a masterpiece!" Zhang Dening added.

She secretly felt lucky that her dissatisfaction with a short story a few days ago was now reflected in her satisfaction. "It's very thoughtful to read! It's also very interesting! How did you come up with this idea?"

"How did you come up with it?"

Jiang Xian pretended to hesitate, coughed lightly, and said shyly: "A few days ago, I received an anonymous love letter. There was no mailing address or sender's name. I felt a little strange and surprised. After reading the content, I guessed that it was written to me by my partner.

After the warmth, an idea suddenly came to my mind: a writer received a love letter. This woman appeared in his life countless times and even had a very intimate relationship with him, but he had never met her. Until many years later, at the end of her life, the woman slowly told all this in an anonymous letter.

"I see."

Zhang Dening's eyes sparkled with excitement. At this moment, he truly admired Jiang Xian's literary talent.

He is always able to capture materials from life details that ordinary people don't notice, dig deep into them, and write deeply and thoroughly. This seems to be easy for him.

This is probably not much different from Cao Zhi's "Poem in Seven Steps", both are insightful and true!
Zhang Dening picked up the manuscript again and read the opening paragraph several times. The more he read it, the more interesting it became, and he looked forward to the following content more and more.

"Jiang Xian, you must give me this manuscript. I have made a promise about this manuscript!"

"Since I've promised you, I won't go back on my word. I'll send this article to you as soon as it's finished."

"Don't worry, just work on this novel. Short stories are not easier to write than novels." Zhang Dening suppressed his eagerness to see the work done, "A good short story is polished bit by bit!"

After chatting for a while, Zhang Dening seemed to be in a trance and left, looking back every few steps.

Jiang Xian didn't need to publicize the fact that he had won first place, as everyone who knew him at the Beijing Film Studio soon heard about it.

"I have to go to the People's Hall to receive the award, right?" Zhu Lin was excited and proud.

This year's awards ceremony was of a higher standard than last year, and was moved to the Great Hall of the People.

"I've been there once." Jiang Xian said calmly.

During the National Congress of Literature and Art, he went inside and learned that there were 34 exclusive conference halls corresponding to 34 provinces, with decoration and layout featuring unique local characteristics.

"The meaning is different. Last time you went to a meeting, but this time you are going to receive an award." Zhu Lin said excitedly.

Looking at Her Majesty the Queen's admiring gaze, Jiang Xian didn't even have the courage to tell her.

This time he not only received an award, but also received three awards!
Jiang Xian made some preparations for the award ceremony. He took out the light grey Zhongshan suit from the bottom of the box and ironed it, and also took out his leather shoes and oiled them.

This outfit belongs to his father, and he has never returned it since he borrowed it.

It fits well, but is a little worn.

"It would be nice if I could get a set in Hongdu."

(End of this chapter)