My era, 1979!

Chapter 123 requires crossing this chasm from having to being good.
"Principal Li personally proposed this, hoping that you would be the first president of the club."

"We at Fudan University also need our own 'Weiming Lake'."

Qilian Mountain spoke with absolute certainty.

The Weiming Lake held broad cultural symbolic significance in 1979.

The reasons behind this are multifaceted.

Since the New Culture Movement, Peking University has always upheld the spirit of "freedom of thought and inclusiveness," and student publications such as "New Youth" and "New Tide" have naturally carried the mission of social criticism and cultural innovation.

As the first student literary publication after the school reopened in 1978, "Weiming Lake" continued this tradition of "using literature to convey moral principles".

Most importantly, its inaugural address was written by Mao Dun, and it attracted avant-garde writers such as Zhang Chengzhi and Hai Zi to participate in its early days.

Fudan University's historical trajectory is different.

From Ma Xiangbo's emphasis on "serving society" when he founded Fudan Public School, to the "practical application" academic style that emerged after the reform and opening up, Fudan students are more inclined to put their talents into practical fields.

For example, in the 1980s, Fudan University students founded the first university student consulting company in the country. In the 1990s, Fudan Weekly, with the slogan "Business as the body, culture as the soul", integrated the resources of four school magazines and transformed into a market-oriented media.

This pragmatic tradition makes Fudan students more inclined to express themselves through club activities, such as the debate team and the astronomy association, rather than through pure literary publications.

Differences in historical genes and cultural background, constraints in management models and resource allocation, divergence in the value orientations of student groups, and differences in institutional design and the ecosystem of student organizations, etc.
All of these factors influence whether Fudan University can produce a magazine like "Weiming Lake".

Xu Chengjun tapped the edge of the table twice lightly, but didn't reply immediately.

He wanted to start this school magazine.

I've thought about this for a long time.

He wasn't thinking about creating some kind of high ground for democracy and freedom.

He didn't intend to attract a group of "spiritual aristocrats" like Peking University.

Instead, he wanted to publish a literary journal that could convey his ideas.

The development of modern and contemporary literature cannot be attributed to the few works he wrote.

Only by spreading the idea can we influence more people.

Only then could he realize his vision for modern Chinese literature.

That's right, it's just a hypothetical scenario.

His vision of contemporary Chinese literature is one that boasts an extremely rich body of works.

It is based on the construction of literary subjectivity, rather than stopping at the translation, imitation and transplantation of foreign literary achievements.

Based on the unique texture and cultural genes of the Chinese language, we explore the possibilities of literary paradigms.

Write down all works from realism to modernism to postmodernism and various other "isms" in Chinese.

From realism's meticulous depiction of everyday life to modernism's profound exploration of the spirit, and then to postmodernism's deconstruction and reconstruction of narrative boundaries, all require localized creation within the "Chinese context."

Regardless of the consequences, he wrote in a saturated style, comprehensively depicting contemporary Chinese figures and society.

It confronts the social and individual circumstances of contemporary China: it depicts both the anxieties of survival under the neon lights of the city and the cultural pains of rural transformation.

It depicts both the spiritual predicament of the elite and the resilience of ordinary people.

This kind of writing is not about deliberately taking sides with any "ism," but only about achieving the ultimate in "truth."

Let literature become a panoramic mirror of the times, so that every state of being can find its corresponding place in the text.

Explore all the existing and conceivable paths, repeat them many times until you become familiar with them, so that your works are not only infinite in number but also diverse in variety.

Only in such an ecosystem could the seeds of new literature be sown, and only then could the discussion of "what constitutes good literature" have a genuine context.

When "standing out" no longer depends on external support, the endorsement of labels, or the boost of capital, quality becomes the only passport.

at this time.

The direction, trend, and way out of contemporary literature are no longer abstract speculations, but rather an inevitable result of natural growth from a "rich ecosystem"—to establish irreplaceable value among a vast number of works, it is necessary to break through the "false" with "truth": to reject unrealistic narratives, empty lyricism, and deliberate sensationalism, and to let the power of literature originate from a profound insight into reality and a sincere observation of human nature.

In later generations, literary evaluation remained trapped in the logical dilemma of "substituting 'having' for 'good'".

We often defend naivety by claiming the author is "young," enchant narratives by labeling them "female writers," enhance their value by using "dialect writing," or endorse their uniqueness by citing "frontier/jungle" themes.

These additional qualifiers, seemingly providing evidence for "good literature," actually expose the lack of substance in literature itself.

Essentially, this is still a ingrained mindset from an era of insufficient literary supply: using the legitimacy of existence to mask the limitations of quality, and using the scarcity of labels to replace the core power of the text.

We always cheer for the existence of a certain type of work, but avoid asking whether this type of work is good enough.

Or perhaps it's not that people are unwilling to ask questions, but rather that the scarcity of supply leaves them without a frame of reference: when only a few works of a certain theme or style exist, they themselves become substitutes for "good" ones.

The true maturity of contemporary Chinese literature requires crossing this gap between "having" and "being good".

This is certainly a clumsy method, but there's no simple solution when it comes to solving a problem.

To make modern and contemporary Chinese literature no longer confined to rural life.

Write it down, write it out.

All of this was accomplished by Xu Chengjun alone.

Having arrived in 1979, shouldn't we do something about it?

Starting with Fudan University's student newspaper?
Sunlight streamed through the wooden window of Zhang Peiheng's office, casting dappled shadows of sycamore leaves onto the manuscript paper. He looked at the expectation in Qi Lianshan's eyes and suddenly smiled.

“Secretary Qi, it’s a good thing to run a literary society and publish a journal. Fudan students should have their own platform. But if we’re going to run it, it has to be run like Fudan – it can’t just follow in the footsteps of Peking University’s ‘Weiminghu’ journal, nor can it become an empty shell that no one reads.”

At Fudan University, we emphasize "practical application to society." Articles should be grounded in social realities, exploring the boundaries of literature, reflecting the differences between different groups and industries, and creating a new voice for literature since the reform and opening up.

Upon hearing this, both Qi Lianshan and Zhang Peiheng were stunned for a moment, and then they both laughed.

Zhang Peiheng nodded, holding up his enamel mug: "I told you this kid had ideas, didn't I? I didn't disappoint you."

He was also surprised that this kid didn't rush to refuse.

In his memory, Xu Chengjun had extremely high emotional intelligence, but was also extremely goal-oriented.

What's this kid's purpose this time?
Qi Lianshan put down his teacup and leaned forward: "Just say what you want. As long as it's for the good of the magazine, the school's Youth League Committee will coordinate whatever it can."

"Then I'll tell you straight."

Xu Chengjun sat up straight, his tone no longer casual, but more determined.

"First, we must have autonomy in choosing topics."

He pointed to the Poetry Journal on the corner of the table. "Whether it's writing about the sycamore-lined path on campus, discussing new works in Harvest, or even occasionally sharing observations on 'people's hearts during reform,' as long as it doesn't cross the red line, the editorial board should be able to make its own decisions. It can't be that the school says it's going to publish a meeting notice today and then adds a commendation article tomorrow. Students will just flip through a couple of pages and throw it away."

Qi Lianshan raised an eyebrow, stroking the armrest of his wicker chair with his right hand: "There needs to be a limit to this. It's not that the school doesn't trust you, it's just that they're worried the young students won't be able to handle things properly. How about this, how about assigning a mentor? Let's find an old professor from the Chinese department, for example..."

"Having a mentor is an option."

Xu Chengjun immediately responded, but did not give Qi Lianshan a chance to finish speaking.

"But teachers only offer suggestions and do not interfere with the final decision. For example, if the article is 'too personal,' the teacher can say, 'Perhaps it could be more relevant to the campus,' but cannot say, 'This article cannot be published.' Think about it, Peking University's 'Weiming Lake' magazine became popular precisely because students dared to write their true thoughts. If Fudan University wants to do this, it must have this kind of magnanimity."

These words struck a chord with Qilianshan.

In recent years, Fudan University has always been overshadowed by Peking University in terms of campus culture. The university leaders have long wanted to find an opportunity to turn the tide, and Xu Chengjun's words hit the nail on the head.

He paused for a few seconds, then suddenly slapped his thigh: "Okay! We'll do it your way! I'll coordinate with the supervising teacher. I'll find Professor Li, who teaches modern literature. He understands students and definitely won't interfere unnecessarily."

Xu Chengjun looked up at Qilian Mountain, then at Zhang Peiheng, and asked, "Teacher Qi, what do you think of my senior brother?"

Zhang Peiheng: "."

Qilian Mountains: "."

The two exchanged a glance, and Qi Lianshan suddenly nodded: "If Professor Zhang is willing, then of course there is no problem."

Zhang Peiheng is measured, and Qilianshan knows this.

The school leaders wouldn't be afraid of him causing trouble.

"I do not want to."

Zhang Peiheng's answer was firm and righteous.

"But I have someone in mind—"

Xu Chengjun and Qi Lianshan both looked at Zhang Peiheng.

"Zhu Bangwei".

Qi Lianshan nodded as Zhu Bangwei's information flashed through his mind.

Zhu Lao's granddaughter, a member of Fudan University.

He has connections with both Xu Chengjun and Zhu Lao's students, so he's a very good candidate. "I think he's suitable. I'll mention it to the leadership later; there shouldn't be any problem."

Xu Chengjun breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't show it on his face. He then went on to say the second thing: "Secondly, we need real, tangible support."

"Publishing a magazine isn't just about writing. You need a small space, right? It doesn't have to be big, just enough to put a few tables to stack manuscripts and store printed materials. Any spare room near Songzhuang or Dormitory 3 will do. And printing, doesn't the school administration have a printing plant? Could you coordinate some quotas? We don't need many at the beginning, just print 500 copies per issue to circulate on campus first. If the response is good, we can print more."

Before he could finish speaking, Zhang Peiheng interjected, "I'll ask around for the venue. There's a storage room in the Chinese Department building that used to be used to store old books; we can clean it out and use it. As for printing..."

He looked at the Qilian Mountains, his eyes conveying a sense of "you need to make a statement."

Qi Lianshan didn't hesitate: "I'll talk to the school office about printing! The school still has a lot of printing quota left for the Youth League Committee this year, and you can use it first. It's not just about printing magazines. If you want to hold a 'literary salon' or print some activity notices and author biographies, you can ask me for approval."

Is this for real?

Xu Chengjun smiled, and his tone became warmer: "With your words, I feel more at ease. I have another small request—please don't assign 'tasks' to literary magazines."

"For example, if the school organizes an arts festival, don't force the magazine to publish a 'review'; or if a department produces a 'model student,' don't force us to write about it. The school newspaper handles these things, and our magazine should just focus on literature. If students like reading it, it can last a long time."

After listening, Qi Lianshan suddenly burst into laughter, pointed at Xu Chengjun and said to Zhang Peiheng, "Look! What did I tell you? This kid is more thoughtful than us old folks! The school was worried that he was too young to handle this, but now it seems I was overthinking it."

He stood up, reached out and patted Xu Chengjun's shoulder, the force a little stronger than before, full of approval: "I agree to all three of these points! The school's Youth League Committee will issue a written document that clearly states all of these points. You can use it to recruit people and form an editorial department, and you'll have more confidence in your position."

"Stop, there's more, Teacher Qi."

Even Zhang Peiheng couldn't stand it anymore. "You're really greedy, aren't you?"
"I hope Fudan University can fully support the establishment of the school journal, help coordinate with Professor Ba Jin to write an inscription for the inaugural issue, encourage Chinese literature professors to publish articles in it, and appoint Professor Jia Zhifang and Professor Wu Zhongjie as advisors to the editorial board. At the same time, the school journal should be allowed to expand and become a school journal for universities in Shanghai, rather than being limited to one place."

Xu Chengjun paused for a moment.

"In the end, the school magazine will be published temporarily as internal material, printed only by the Fudan University Chinese Department Archives, and mailed to more than 200 universities across the country through the school post office. Of course, this is a long-term aspiration."

The underground publication format best leverages the advantages of on-campus publications.

This is also what Peking University does.

Qi Lianshan frowned in thought. His visit to Zhang Peiheng meant that the school genuinely wanted to do this, rather than just putting it on a show.

However, he did not expect Xu Chengjun to have considered this matter in such detail.

"The problem shouldn't be too big. I'll discuss it with Principal Li later."

"What Mr. Buffett said—"

Qi Lianshan laughed, "I reckon if they hear that the president is you, it won't be a big problem."

Secretary Qi still gave him face.

It has autonomy and support.

It allows them to realize their own ideas while also enjoying the benefits of running such a newspaper.

Why not?
Xu Chengjun also stood up and shook hands with Qi Lianshan again, who had extended his hand: "Secretary Qi, rest assured, I will definitely not let the school down and will strive to make this magazine a 'brand name' for Fudan University."

"Okay! I'll wait and see!"

Qi Lianshan gently waved his hand, then remembered something, "By the way, you can choose the editors yourself. If you need the Youth League Committee to help promote them, I'll have the Literature and Art Department issue a notice to make sure all literature lovers at Fudan University know about it."

"No rush. Let me get to know these classmates first before making a decision."

Qi Lianshan: "It's up to you. The school will give you the greatest support and freedom, and we just hope you can achieve good results!"
-
Before we knew it, it was the last day of military training.

The morning mist on Fudan University's sports field had not yet completely dissipated, but the green of the Type 65 military uniforms had already spread out in patches.

Xu Chengjun had just fastened his belt when Lin Yimin ran over carrying a military water bottle, his hat brim askew and his heels still covered in mud from last night's training exercise: "Chengjun! Look at Zhou Haibo! To avoid getting a tan, this guy stuffed newspapers into his Liberation cap, and now the back of his head looks like he's wearing a cotton cap!"

Even without Zhou Haibo, you're already acting like a Japanese collaborator!
Xu Chengjun looked in the direction he was pointing and saw Zhou Haibo huddled at the back of the line, his hat bulging high, being stared at by instructor Liu Tiezhu: "Zhou Haibo! What's in your hat? Take it out!"

Zhou Haibo dawdled as he pulled out a copy of the *Liberation Daily*, the corner of which still bore the headline "Learn from Dazhai in Agriculture." Liu Tiezhu glanced at it and suddenly burst out laughing: "You've got some ideas! Next time, just stuff some straw mats in there and use it as a straw hat!"

The surrounding students burst into laughter, and even the standard-bearer standing at the head of the line couldn't help but turn around, only to be glared back by Liu Tiezhu: "What are you looking at! Did you march correctly? If you march out of step during the performance later, you can forget about lunch!"

No sooner had he said that than Lin Yimin suddenly cried out, "Ouch!"

He practiced marching too hard last night and wore off a piece of leather on his shoe heel; now it hurts whenever he exerts force.

Xu Chengjun pulled a piece of gauze from his pocket: "Put this on, or you'll make a fool of yourself later."

This was included among the countless letters (love letters) he received from book lovers this month.

Just as Lin Yimin finished pasting it up, the loudspeaker came on, broadcasting "The Three Main Rules of Discipline and the Eight Points for Attention." The sound had static, but it heated up the atmosphere.

Each company began to line up. Xu Chengjun's Chinese Literature Department company was in the third position, and he stood in the second row.

"Cheer up, everyone!"

Liu Tiezhu shouted at the top of his lungs, blowing his whistle sharply.

"We'll be free after today's performance, so don't let us fall apart at the last minute! Xu Chengjun, come with me in a bit, the school leaders are coming to watch. If you can sing 'Waiting for Your Return in the North,' maybe you can earn our company a rotating red flag!"

Just as Xu Chengjun was about to respond, he saw Lin Yimin winking at him from the side: "Chengjun, you'd better sing well, or Instructor Liu will make you practice marching for an extra half hour!"

As it turned out, it wasn't Xu Chengjun who made a fool of himself during the performance, but Lin Yimin.

When it was the Chinese Literature Department's turn to march in formation, he got nervous and twisted his left and right legs together, moving forward like a robot. Liu Tiezhu was so anxious that he jumped up and down, shouting, "Lin Yimin! You're marching with the wrong leg! Stop right there!"

Lin Yimin's face turned bright red, and he stood there helplessly. Xu Chengjun took the opportunity to whisper a reminder: "Step with your left leg first, and push hard with your left leg when you shout 'one'!"

Fortunately, he didn't make the same mistake again when he walked it again. However, after getting off, Lin Yimin covered his face and wailed, "It's over, it's over! The whole of Fudan University saw me walking with my feet turned out the wrong way!"

"It's okay, you're famous now anyway."

"That's useless!"

“Black and red are also red!”

"Depend on!"

After the performance, it was time for a singing competition. Each company sat in a circle around the playground, and Liu Tiezhu led the way by shouting, "Chinese Literature Department! Give us a song!"

The students joined in the commotion. Xu Chengjun had just taken his guitar out of his backpack when Li Xiaoyi appeared out of nowhere and handed him a bottle of cold water: "Just got this from the cafeteria, so it'll soothe your throat."

The people around them cheered wildly.

Xu Chengjun waved his hand: "No need."

Zhou Haibo, standing nearby, whispered to Cheng Yongxin, "Being in the same year as this bastard has stolen so much of our luck with women! Let's get that bastard!"

Cheng Yongxin shook his head: "How much can he use by himself? Isn't the rest just for us to 'transport'?"

Zhou Haibo's eyes lit up!
So clear!

Upon seeing this, Liu Tiezhu chuckled and joked, "Xu Chengjun, your 'logistical support' is really top-notch! Hurry up and sing, don't let the physics department next door laugh at us!"

Xu Chengjun was tuning his instrument and had just played the prelude when shouts came from the other side of the playground from the Physics Department: "Xu Chengjun! Sing 'Waiting for You to Return to the North'!"

The sounds rose and fell, and even people were peeking out from the school leaders' seats.

He looked up and saw Qi Lianshan talking to Principal Li, who even nodded at him. He immediately felt reassured.

As soon as the song began, the playground fell silent, and even the wind seemed to slow down.

Liu Tiezhu, who had been standing with his hands on his hips, let go of them as he listened. He took a piece of fruit candy out of his pocket and secretly slipped it to the communications officer next to him: "Take this to Zhou Haibo. That kid's voice got hoarse from shouting this morning."

When the song reached the line "There is a monument in southern Xinjiang," the entire audience erupted in applause.

Many people were hearing Xu Chengjun sing this song for the first time, and they didn't believe that Xu Chengjun had the ability to sing well.

Now, however, we have no choice but to believe it!
"Xu Chengjun is so handsome!"

"Cheng Jun, awesome!"

The end of this military training was warmer than I imagined—

There were no harsh reprimands, only the liveliness of youth and the tenderness hidden beneath the seriousness.

During the awards ceremony, the Chinese Literature Department team indeed won the rotating red flag. Liu Tiezhu handed the flag to Xu Chengjun and patted him on the shoulder, saying, "If there's a chance in the future, I'd like to hear you play the guitar again."

He has already written a letter recommending the song to his former leader.

I believe the soldiers on the front lines will love this song.

Lin Yimin chimed in from the side, "Instructor, after the army is formed, we might start a magazine, and maybe we can even include you in an article!"

Liu Tiezhu laughed loudly: "What are you going to write about me? Write about me scolding you and you walking with your feet in the same direction?"

Xu Chengjun: "I feel like I can start writing right away."

Lin Yimin:
As the sun sets, the evening breeze carries the lingering echoes of the songs, blowing through the sycamore leaves and carrying away the fatigue of military training.

The crowd on the playground gradually dispersed. Xu Chengjun was holding a guitar, Lin Yimin was carrying a red flag, and Liu Xiaoyue, the class monitor of the first-year Chinese Department, was leading the students to say goodbye to Instructor Liu.

(End of this chapter)