Rebirth 2004: A lone figure in the literary world

Chapter 407: Capital of Literature
At 10 o'clock in the morning, most people who were going to attend the groundbreaking ceremony had arrived.

Apart from people from the cultural sector, there was one representative each from the Hong Kong Cultural Department and the Planning Department, while Zhang Chao was the only person from the mainland.

As soon as he appeared at the scene, the enthusiasm of the book fans could not be controlled. Not only did they shout slogans deafeningly, they even pushed the safety fence forward several feet, forcing Zhang Chao to take the microphone and say a few words to calm them down.

This star-studded lineup impressed the writers, critics, and officials present.

How many years has it been since Hong Kong produced such an influential writer?
Although there is a very distinct local cultural tradition here, the general public seems to have never been very close to literature. Even the most popular Jin Yong relies more on the influence of film and television dramas, not to mention pure literature.

Young people prefer to follow works from Japan and the United States, and even some popular Korean writers, such as "Lovely Tao", which was also a best-seller in Hong Kong for a while.

The works of Hong Kong's local writers seem to be particularly unpopular. Even for popular literature, selling 1 copies is generally considered a top-notch bestseller, not to mention writers from mainland China.

The emergence of Zhang Chao broke the deadlock - they could never have imagined that a young man from mainland China in his 20s could be so popular in Japan and the United States, sell millions of copies of his books, and make a fortune.

Hong Kong people may be insensitive to other things, but they are absolutely sensitive to making money. If Zhang Chao can make so much money, then his book must be impressive.

Therefore, under the urging of this strange mentality, more and more young people began to read Zhang Chao's works. It didn't matter if they read them, they also discovered new worlds from them:

In these novels, the stories are no longer filled with the stereotype of suffering, the setting is no longer the distant countryside full of old things, and the characters are no longer gloomy, depressed, and full of worries...

The stories written by Zhang Chao allow them to either empathize with them or immerse themselves in the wonderful plots. Only a few of his works with too complicated techniques cannot be accepted by the Hong Kong market for a while, and the rest sell well.

As a result, a relatively stable loose organization called "Zhang Chao Book Club" gradually formed in Hong Kong. They mainly use "Weibo" to communicate with each other. There are about several thousand people, which is considered a large-scale civil organization here.

This time, the "Hong Kong Literature Park" was able to pass the research and approval of the Planning Department, which was also inseparable from the "Zhang Chao Book Club"'s coordination and joint signing of the petition.

At 10 o'clock in the morning, the groundbreaking ceremony officially began. Zhang Chao, like other guests, received a shovel and symbolically dug a shovel of soil in front of a small pile of soft earth.

Next came the guest speech session, and Zhang Chao was scheduled to be the last one.

However, the guest in front looked at the surging crowd outside the safety fence and tactfully shortened his speech and gave the stage to Zhang Chao as soon as possible.

Zhang Chao did not hesitate to greet others and walked briskly to the microphone, where he was greeted with huge cheers.

It was the hottest time of the summer. Although it was morning, the sun was still scorching. Fortunately, the organizers were considerate and placed several air coolers around the unobstructed stage, which made people feel a little cool.

Zhang Chao first glanced at the guests in the audience, then looked up at the Hong Kong book fans whose eyes were filled with anticipation, and smiled: "Dear neighbors, dear literary predecessors, and all the young people who took my novel but forgot to bring a pen for me to sign -"

There was laughter from the audience.

"Standing here today, I feel a little dazed. When I came to Hong Kong two years ago, I boasted to reporters that I would build a place to commemorate Mr. Lu Xun, but some newspapers and media accused me of being a 'mainlander' who only draws pie in the sky'.

Unexpectedly, two years later, the cake was not only painted, but also filled with barbecued pork, roast goose and pineapple buns - it became the Hong Kong Literature Park! "

As Zhang Chao spoke, he turned around slightly and pointed to the design renderings on the background board behind him: "Standing here today, looking at this literary park that is about to break ground, my mood is very complicated - to what extent?

It was just like the first time I had English afternoon tea at the Peninsula Hotel two years ago - macarons that were so sweet that they choked my throat, and scones that were so bitter that they made me tremble. After taking a bite, I had a mixture of sweet and bitter flavors.

But later I discovered that this is the flavor of Hong Kong—diversity, collisions, contradictions, yet full of vitality.”

Zhang Chao paused, stood up straight, his tone became relaxed again, and he took out from his arms the piece of Tianhuang stone he bought two years ago. It was small, crystal clear, and as smooth as oil.

Zhang Chao held the Tian Huang stone with his fingers and raised it up, letting it radiate its lustrous luster in the sun: "Two years ago, I was in a stone shop in Yau Ma Tei, fighting wits and courage with Mr. Zhong Weiming, and finally bought this piece of Tian Huang stone.

Although Mr. Zhong disagreed with me, he also told me that the reason why Tianhuang is so precious is that it was originally just an ordinary member of Shoushan Stone, but after being washed by streams, polished by mud and sand, and soaked in metal elements, it finally transformed into a treasure as warm and smooth as jade.

Looking back on his words today, I suddenly thought of Hong Kong - isn’t the literature of this city also like a piece of Tianhuang stone?
The history of Hong Kong literature is a history of collisions. From the short stay of scholars who came to Hong Kong in the late Qing Dynasty to the large number of cultural figures who took refuge here during the Anti-Japanese War; from Jin Yong and Zhang Ailing writing furiously in newspaper offices to the awakening of local consciousness in the works of Xi Xi and Ye Si...

Every generation is looking for its own position in the collision. Some write about coffee shops in Shanghai, some write about the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, and some write about the streets of Hong Kong. But no matter where they write, they eventually become the nourishment of this city.

Today, the land under our feet used to be old factories and old buildings, but soon, it will become a literary park. This reminds me of what Mr. Zhong said: "Stones become treasures when they leave their mother mine."

Isn't it because Hong Kong literature has accepted the "collision" from all corners of the world that it has developed its own unique texture? "

Zhang Chao's words made everyone present start to ponder. Even the most noisy fans stopped shouting slogans, as if they were brought back to the heyday of literature by Zhang Chao.

Although Zhang Chao spoke in Mandarin, every word he said touched his heart.

Zhong Weiming was also among the crowd. Although he disdained to sit on the same level as those "literary orthodoxies" in the guest seats, he was still quite interested in Zhang Chao.

When he saw the Tianhuang in Zhang Chao's hand, he felt mixed emotions.

When he "reluctantly" sold this stone to Zhang Chao two years ago, he actually did not have much change in his opinion of this mainlander, and believed that his popularity was just the product of a deification project.

But two years later, as Zhang Chao's worldwide fame grew, many writers and intellectuals who had contact with him frequently mentioned his name, and he finally realized that perhaps he should change his ideas.

He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, standing at the edge of the crowd, but Zhang Chao's voice was still clearly audible: "So some people say that Hong Kong is a cultural desert. I strongly disagree with this statement - the desert cannot grow the martial arts world of Jin Yong, the popular hits of Xu Guanjie, and even less can it support the imaginative city described by Xixi in "My City".

However, when I was a child reading Jin Yong, what confused me the most was - why did Guo Jing practice martial arts on the prairie, Yang Guo lost his arm in Xiangyang City, Xiao Feng committed suicide in Yanmen Pass... but none of the protagonists ever came to Hong Kong?

Now I understand that Jin Yong's Jianghu is originally in Hong Kong. The knights in his works are the embodiment of the literati from the south - carrying the memory of their homeland, rebuilding their spiritual home in a strange land. Isn't the sentiment of "the greatest knights serve the country and the people" the responsibility in the bones of Hong Kong cultural people?

Today's young people in Hong Kong are luckier than Jin Yong's generation. You don't have to flee in war or survive in the cracks of colonial rule.

You can write poetry by the window of Eslite Bookstore, conceive novels in a tea restaurant in Sham Shui Po, or even leave a few lines of poetry on your blog with your mobile phone.

Zhang Chao's voice was as clear as a bell, and it blew out from the small stage like a gust of wind, passing through the gaps in the streets and alleys, and into those narrow living spaces - there were people there who were listening to Zhang Chao's speech on TV or computer.

Zhang Chao on the stage was also completely immersed in memories and emotions, with many scenes surging in his mind:

There was the fun of playing "Huashan Sword Contest" with classmates using wooden sticks in elementary school; there was the thrill of hiding in the bed and watching "The Twin Dragons of the Tang Dynasty" with a flashlight in junior high school; there was the heroic spirit of singing "Glory Days" and "The Good Earth" with a hoarse voice in high school...

To some extent, Hong Kong's pop culture, like Japanese anime and American blockbusters, has deeply influenced mainland "post-80s" people like him, and is a window for young people in small cities and towns to understand the world.

Zhang Chao, who knew more about what happened later, had a different emotion. He hoped to bring his thoughts to the young people here so that they would not become sluggish and narrow-minded in their cramped world.

Maybe it's a bit idealistic - but without idealism, literature would just be a long advertisement, wouldn't it?
His voice resounded through the speakers of the TV and computer, and echoed in every small room: "I know that many Hong Kong writers are experiencing 'subdivided-flat-style creation' - in a small world of 50 feet, they have to write novels and poems to support their ideals, and write columns to earn a living.

But this is also the value of literature - it never thinks the place to write is too small, but it is afraid that the heart will be framed. Today, this park is a window opened to all literary "subdivided flats" -

Let writers bask in the sun beside the bronze statue, let the neighbors stroll through the novels, and let tourists smell the smoke of Yau Ma Tei in the smoke of Mr. Lu Xun’s pipe. ”

Following Zhang Chao's introduction, everyone remembered that there were indeed many seats and small tables designed in this small park, some in a single corner and some in a surrounding area. It seemed that the park really welcomed authors who were bored of writing to come here to take a rest and relax.

Zhang Chao continued: "Yesterday when I first came to Hong Kong, a reporter asked me during an interview, 'Mr. Zhang, you always say that Hong Kong literature is very special, but what is different between what Hong Kong writers write and what is written in mainland China and Taiwan?'

My answer is, 'Why do we have to pursue differences? The differences in literary characteristics are not the result of the author's deliberate pursuit, but the land naturally gives the work a style.'

Literature is not a competition where you have to compete to be the best; literature is a bridge that connects different hearts.

Xixi wrote My City to find the identity of Hong Kong; Mo Yan wrote Red Sorghum to question the fate of the land; Pai Hsien-yung wrote Taipei People to look back at the nostalgia of separation. But no matter what the theme is, excellent works always transcend regions and touch people's hearts.

Young people in Hong Kong, you can write about the anxiety of white-collar workers in Central, or the dusk of the fishing village of Tai O; you can write about the eternal cheers at the racecourse, or the constant leaking sound of old public housing estates; you can learn from Xi Xi to write the local fable of "My City", or you can learn from Huang Biyun to write about survival and destruction in "Carmen Blood".

At this point, Zhang Chao's voice suddenly slowed down, with a hint of tenderness. He knew that the following words might be a little naive, but speaking out at this point in 2008, it seemed very appropriate -

“In addition, you can think of the endless rushing of the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers while writing about the hustle and bustle of the streets of Mong Kok; when describing the bright lights of Victoria Harbour at night, think about the thousand-year-old wind and sand outside the ancient capital of the Six Dynasties.

Tianshan Mountains, Qinling Mountains, Five Sacred Mountains, grasslands, the Great Wall, ancient temples...these not only belong to me, but also to you.

Local sentiment and national identity are never an either-or choice. Just like this literary park - next to the bronze statue of Lu Xun, there will be the figure of Zhang Ailing; under the poems of Guo Moruo, there will be the warning words of Ye Si. Different voices meet here, and this is its charm. "

After Zhang Chao finished speaking, there was applause from the audience. Even those guests who were there for "routine work" had to admit that Zhang Chao's words were quite inspiring, not to mention those book fans.

When the applause died down, Zhang Chao's speech came to an end, and his tone became relaxed and humorous again: "In the past, when people mentioned Hong Kong, they thought of the banks in Central, the neon lights in Causeway Bay, and the red wine in Lan Kwai Fong. But the soul of this city is much more than that.

In the 1960s, Shaw Brothers films made martial arts culture popular in Asia; in the 1980s, Beyond's rock music sang "Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies"; in the 1990s, Wong Kar-wai used his camera to reconstruct the loneliness of the city... These cultural symbols, like the Hang Seng Index, are also the pride of Hong Kong.

Today, we build the Literature Park not to create a "Literary Disneyland", but to do something big from this small, inconspicuous piece of land - to reposition Hong Kong.

It is not only a harbor for capital, but also a cradle of creativity; it is not only a financial hub, but also a source of stories. Friends, Victoria Peak is a landmark of Hong Kong, but I want to say that literature should become the "second mountain" of this city.

It doesn’t have to be towering, but it can allow people to look up at the stars;

It doesn't have to be expensive, but it can accommodate the ideals of every generation.

In a few years, when someone asks, 'Besides money, what else does Hong Kong have? ' I hope you can point to this literary park and answer, 'And here, there is literature. '

This small park is like a concave inkstone among the tall buildings. I hope the ink ground here is from all over the world, and I hope it can write about the world where people are divided into north and south but the culture is the same on both sides.

The signature on the bottom of this inkstone can accommodate both "my city" and "China".

Thank you, everyone. That’s all I have to say.”

After saying that, Zhang Chao walked briskly back to his seat in the guest seats.

There was silence for a long time, and then there was thunderous applause.

(End of this chapter)