Rebirth 2004: A lone figure in the literary world

Chapter 205 Summer Summer quietly passed by leaving a little secret behind

Many years later, when talking about writing, Zhang Chao would always recall the fear he felt on that summer afternoon in 1995 when he was met with the cold stares of the salesperson at the Xinhua Bookstore.

Zhang Chao, 11, followed his father into the county's only Xinhua Bookstore on the first floor of a department store. He only remembered that it was a place where heaven and earth turned upside down: when he looked down, he could see the terrazzo floor covered with dense dots, like a starry sky; when he looked up, he could see the vortex created by the dark green ceiling fan, which matched the white ceiling inexplicably. Rows of floor-to-ceiling bookcases were embedded in the walls, and U-shaped glass cabinets stood between the books and him like a chasm.

Normally, when Zhang Chao came to buy books by himself, he would only dare to timidly point to the one he liked. The salesperson would always ask impatiently: "Are you sure it's this one? I'll only give it to you if you want to buy it!" This sentence always left the young Zhang Chao speechless for a moment - there was no Internet at that time, and if you wanted to know which book was good, you could only rely on other people's brief introductions or the author's reputation.

At that time, books were not expensive, but my parents’ salary was even lower. Especially when my father was a teacher, when the county was in financial difficulties, they would always squeeze out the “water” from their income first. The year before last, the provincial capital was building an airport, and there was not enough money, so all the teachers in the county had to “generously” and “understand the overall situation” and “donate” one month’s salary. My mother complained about this a lot.

If he bought a book he didn't like, Zhang Chao would be upset for months. When the salesperson took the book off and handed it to him, there was always a look of vigilance in his eyes. Zhang Chao could only turn to the first two pages of the text as quietly as possible and browse through them as quickly as possible to determine the quality of the book. If he accidentally creased the cover and didn't buy it, it would be a capital crime in the eyes of the salesperson.

So Zhang Chao was a little afraid to come to Xinhua Bookstore - but at that time many good and new books were only supplied here first, and if he wanted to see good books quickly, he had to come here.

But my father had no such scruples. He strode to the counter and pointed to a book called "Selected 500-word Excellent Essays for Primary School Students" in a gruff voice and asked the salesperson to take it down. After getting the book, he did not pay for it, but turned directly to the catalog page, took out a notebook and began to copy the essay titles on it.

Such recklessness shocked Zhang Chao and the salesperson. After a moment, the salesperson began to lower his voice and said repeatedly: "This is not possible! This is not possible!..." But my father did not stop writing, as if he could not hear the salesperson's voice at all. The salesperson was probably intimidated by this "momentum" and did not dare to reach out to take it, but rolled his eyes at Zhang Chao behind my father.

Disdain, contempt, grievance, anger... all in this one look. Zhang Chao felt that this white eye was like a piece of cloth covering his head, almost suffocating him.

It seemed like half a lifetime had passed before his father finally finished copying over 100 essay titles, closed the essay collection, and without even glancing at the deep knife-like crease on the cover, he strode away with Zhang Chao. After they left the Xinhua Bookstore, his father asked him, "Are you afraid or embarrassed? Do you think it's shameful for me to do this?"

Without waiting for Zhang Chao to answer, his father continued, "They are the sellers and we are the customers. We have different divisions of labor and equal personalities. Why should you be afraid? The books sold in bookstores are all in a specified sample ratio, at least one. Their wages will not be deducted if the sample books are folded, old, or yellowed. As long as customers do not steal the sample books, it is normal behavior whether they read or copy them - this is especially true for the state-owned Xinhua Bookstore. Their attitude is going backwards as time goes by."

Zhang Chao no longer remembered what his father said next, or how they got home. He only remembered that summer, he wrote two essays a day according to the essay titles his father had copied, and he never changed his mind. If he changed his mind, he would be beaten with a belt. His father's revisions to his essays also changed from drawing a big circle and then a big cross on the entire page or paragraph, to revising sentence by sentence, and then correcting word by word.

Thinking back to the almost cruel writing training that summer, Zhang Chao still shudders today. How could a fourth-grade primary school student have so much material? Repetition was not allowed. If he couldn't come up with something, he could only make it up. If it wasn't good, he would be scolded. After being scolded, he would cry while revising it. After revising it, he had to give it to his father for revision. After his father's revision, he had to copy it and write a brief reflection on the writing... In short, if you can't write to death, write to death.

In just two months, Zhang Chao went from failing in composition to being the best in the county. "Dad, I can't really use the method you taught me in this book "I Teach My Son to Write Compositions". It will kill people." Zhang Chao added with lingering fear.

"Of course, other families don't have the conditions. Other parents can't replicate my twenty years of skills. I was busy with work at the time and didn't have time to teach you how to write essays. Later, when you came home and told me that the Chinese teacher said in class, 'Teacher Zhang's son can't write essays,' I got anxious.

But I don't have the patience to teach you a little bit every year, so I taught you all the writing methods and word choice that other students would need at least seven or eight years to master in just two months... Isn't the effect good?"

Zhang Chao smiled helplessly - the effect was indeed good, but the process was too tragic. In fact, after that summer vacation, his father no longer systematically guided him in writing. However, the correct concepts and good habits (which actually also included some bad habits) that he had formed had already penetrated into Zhang Chao's bones. With the support of a huge amount of reading, Zhang Chao had the ability to learn and evolve independently in writing.

"You were literally feeding me espresso powder - but for this book, you have to brew it with water before people can drink it, and it can't be too strong. It's best to add some sugar and milk. But you can't mess it up like those essay collections on the market."

"That's for sure. There are very few essays in the collections of essays on the market, no matter if they are from primary school, middle school or high school, that are actually written by students. They are basically written by Chinese teachers commissioned by publishing house editors, but they are written in the tone of primary school or middle school students.

Didn't I ask you to write a few junior high school essays when you were in high school? That was because someone asked me to write them, but I didn't have time, so I asked you to write them for 50 yuan each. Oh, at that time, I had this money in my hand, and I was very cool when I walked around school..."

Zhang Chao: “…” He had never expected that in addition to the essays for Comrade Lao Zhang’s colleagues in the school who were taking the undergraduate self-study exams, the papers for their professional titles, and the lyrics of ethnic folk songs that the county had arranged for them to perform at the provincial evening party, he had also helped Comrade Lao Zhang write commissioned articles for a collection of essays. At the time, he thought they were to be used as model essays for students.

Zhang Chao's father had no idea of ​​his son's complicated inner thoughts on the other end of the phone. He was still chattering about his various ideas for the book "I Teach My Son to Write Compositions": "The format of this book cannot be divided by grade level, so it is not a 'composition guide for elementary school students' or a 'composition guide for junior high school students'. Instead, it should be combined according to the necessary elements of different genres, and explain how to write different elements step by step to make them more natural and rich..."

"Do middle school students not make the same writing problems that elementary school students make? In fact, they do, and because they love to 'make up' things, the problems are more obvious..."

"When I revised your composition, why did I start by deleting entire pages and paragraphs, even if you had some good descriptions or narratives in it? Because structure is always more important than words. Structure is like limbs and organs. If there are too many, too few, or wrong ones, you will either be a freak or a disease. Words are just clothes. If you wear them wrong, they just don't look good..."

As Zhang Chao listened, he seemed to see his father supervising him writing from behind, and his eyes became moist.

(End of this chapter)