My era, 1979!

Chapter 193 My Mission, My Stage (1.2 words, seventh day of intensive updates~ Please vote~)

The audience, guests, and hosts were almost completely overwhelmed with emotion. The studio was filled with sobs and suppressed grief, forcing the recording to be temporarily suspended. This was an unprecedented event since the premiere of "Tetsuko's Little House," a program known for its warmth and tranquility.

The staff in the control room and the field were extremely shocked. When they saw Tetsuko Kuroyanagi, who was known for her emotional stability, gentle personality and strong guidance, walk out of the studio with tears streaming down her face and her makeup completely ruined, everyone was dumbfounded.

"Kuroyanagi, manly man?" (Ms. Kuroyanagi, are you okay?)

"What happened?" (What happened?)

“番组の収録は?” (What happens during program recording?)

Kuroyanagi Tetsuko waved her hands, trying to force out a tired but relieved smile, and said in a tone that was in line with Japanese workplace habits and attributed the responsibility to herself: "はい, a real man. The problem is the problem. . It’s a personal emotional issue... I’m sorry for worrying you all.”
When the makeup artist Ms. Inoue was urgently touching up her makeup, she was still a little distracted and murmured to herself: "あの子たち...戦火の中であんなにも正粋な心を" Motivation...そして, あんなshaped... (Those children...still maintained such pure hearts in the flames of war...and then, in that way...)"

At this time, she was conceiving and creating "Totto-chan: The Little Girl at the Window." Xu Chengjun's depiction of "Hope," who still yearned for learning and peace amidst the flames of war, and "Da Niu," who was forced to take up a gun, deeply moved her.

She felt that perhaps more explicit content about peace and life education could be added to the book, so that "Tomoe Gakuen" would not only be a place that accepts individuality, but also a cradle for sowing anti-war and peace ideals, so that children would understand the weight of life and the preciousness of peace from an early age.

As Ms. Inoue touched up her makeup, she said incredulously in a low voice, "I never expected you to be so excited, Ms. Kuroyanagi... What exactly did that Chinese writer say?"

Kuroyanagi took a deep breath, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "It's about the weight of life... and the cruelty of what war plunders."

On the other side, Xu Chengjun also went outside for some fresh air with the staff.

Many audience members approached him, hoping to get his autograph, and eagerly inquired about the release dates in Japan for "Red Silk" and "The New Box of Hope," which he had just mentioned.

"Mr. Xu, your words have deeply moved me, and I will definitely read your work!"

"You showed me real people in history, not just cold numbers. Thank you!"

Of course, there were also some people in the crowd with radical nationalist views or different views on history. They cast cold, scrutinizing, and even hostile glances at them. Although they did not provoke them, the silent pressure was already permeating the air.

Kenzaburo Oe walked up to him, gently patted his shoulder, and whispered, "Mr. Xu, please don't worry about it. Your point of view is correct. It's just that, to be honest, for many people, that past is still too heavy."

Xu Chengjun nodded in understanding.

As the two were talking, Baba Koichi from Iwanami Shoten came running over with a look of surprise and apology: "Mr. Xu! I was held up by the follow-up matters of signing the contract for Mr. Kawabata Yasunari's old collection of essays, and I really couldn't get away! But your remarks were really... very... brave and profound! まるで…静かなる雷鸣のようです。(It was like... a silent thunderclap.)"

"Won't it be cut?" Xu Chengjun asked the most crucial question directly.

"No! We at Iwanami Shoten will protect it!"

Baba's tone was resolute.

It's difficult to simply categorize Baba as left or right. Judging from his historical actions, he may have leaned to the left, but he was essentially a shrewd businessman who understood what could spark intellectual debate and what values ​​were more enduring and important than temporary ideologies.

Originally, the promotion of "Red Silk" in Japan faced many market uncertainties, but Xu Chengjun himself attracted fans with his appearance and talent as soon as he arrived. Coupled with the intellectual sharpness, emotional tension and courage to face history shown in this interview, Baba can foresee that a three-dimensional image of a "new generation of Chinese writers" with literary depth, historical responsibility and unique personal charm will be established quickly. This in itself is a brand with great appeal and topicality.

The release of "Red Silk" is imminent!
We must immediately start stocking up on products after the show airs, and even consider airing the show earlier to take full advantage of this opportunity!

"That's good, Mr. Baba. Thank you for Iwanami Shoten's support!"

“By the way, Mr. Xu, we are also very interested in the book you mentioned, ‘The New Box of Hope’… I wonder if we could have the honor of publishing it for you?” Baba pressed on while the iron was hot.

Next to him, Oe Kenzaburo also smiled at the right time and said: "あの物语は、真かに読む価値がありますね." (That story is indeed worth reading.)
Looking at Oe beside him, Baba was even more satisfied. The presence of Oe and Ryotaro Shiba truly elevated the level and topicality of this program to the extreme.

"I was so wise to invite Sima!" he thought.

The break was short, and the show resumed recording.

The lights came on again, and Tetsuko Kuroyanagi seemed to have regained her professional and gentle demeanor as a presenter, though her eyes were still slightly red. She faced Xu Chengjun and said sincerely:

"Mr. Then, "

She skillfully made a transition, bringing the topic back to literature itself, but with a different tone: "Let's return to the work 'Red Silk' itself. In the literary world you've created, besides the profound reflection on history, what message do you most hope to convey to readers, especially young readers?"

When Tetsuko Kuroyanagi brought the topic back to "Red Silk" and its core message, Xu Chengjun paused briefly, his eyes regaining their previous clarity and wisdom, and gave a profound and poetic answer:

"Ms. Kuroyanagi, if there is anything else that 'Red Silk' wants to convey besides reflection, it is a belief: no matter how times change, the most shining parts of humanity—courage, kindness, perseverance in love, and resistance against injustice—will never be outdated. They are the eternal coordinates for humanity to traverse any historical fog. I hope that young readers can feel that understanding the complexity of history is not about carrying hatred, but about more clearly and firmly protecting and creating the beauty of the present."

This answer not only echoed the previous heavy topic but also lightly elevated it to a positive direction, easing the somber atmosphere.

Tetsuko Kuroyanagi nodded approvingly, and the subsequent questions indeed became much more friendly and lighthearted, entering a rhythm similar to a rapid-fire Q&A session.

Kuroyanagi: "You mentioned the future in your book, which left a deep impression on me. Based on a writer's intuition, what do you think the world will be like in the future? (Please give us some insightful observations about the future, but not too long.)"

Xu Chengjun: "It will be a closer but more fragile 'global village.' Technology has made distance disappear, but the barriers between people's hearts may become new walls. The challenge of the future may not be how to build taller buildings, but how to build more bridges connecting people's hearts."

Kuroyanagi: "What is 'happiness' to you personally?"

Xu Chengjun: "When the night is quiet, I can fall asleep peacefully; when the sun is shining, I can laugh without any gloom. My heart is at peace and my spirit is free."

Kuroyanagi: "What do you think is the most important quality of an excellent writer?"

Xu Chengjun: "Sincerity. Sincerity towards words, sincerity towards history, and most importantly, sincerity towards one's own heart. Skills can be honed, but sincerity is the spark of the soul."

Kuroyanagi: "If you could say one thing to all the young people in the world, what would it be?"

Xu Chengjun: "Please be sure to maintain the ability to think independently, and don't let yourself become a playground for other people's ideas. You are not only witnesses to the future, but also shapers of the future."

Kuroyanagi: "When you feel tired or confused while creating, what do you do to get back into the zone?"

Xu Chengjun: "Step out of the study and into the crowd. The lively atmosphere of the vegetable market, the laughter of children in the park, even the beads of sweat on the ridges of the fields... Life itself is always the best source of inspiration and energy." Hei Liu: "Please describe your relationship with writing in one sentence."

Xu Chengjun: "It is my way of communicating with the world, and it is also the homeland where I can find peace for my soul."

This series of concise yet insightful answers once again demonstrated Xu Chengjun's sharp thinking and rich inner world, showing a stark contrast to his previous heavy historical discussions, yet also a harmonious unity.

The program drew to a close in a relatively relaxed and hopeful atmosphere.

Xu Chengjun's multifaceted charm completely captivated the audience during the interview.

After a long silence, Ryotaro Shiba suddenly spoke again.

Tetsuko Kuroyanagi's expression darkened almost instantly, but her professionalism prevented her from interrupting immediately.

"Xu...さん,"

Sima chose a slightly awkward but respectful form of address, his voice lower than before, carrying the weight of deep thought. "I've been pondering this alone for a long time. Your words, about history and the future, have deeply moved me. However, there's a question that has puzzled me for a long time, and I'd like to hear your insights. I know you're not only a writer but also a researcher in the Chinese Department at Fudan University, a prestigious institution. What puzzles me is why, currently, many in-depth studies of classical Chinese culture—such as Dunhuang studies, Tang and Song history, and even the study of the *Wenxuan*—have yielded more prominent and systematic results in our academic circles. For example, Professor Inoue Yasushi's reconstruction of Western Region literature, Professor Shiba Rokuro's collation of the *Wenxuan*, or the Kyoto School's exploration of Song-Ming Neo-Confucianism? Why is it that in many fields, it is we Japanese who are protecting and deepening the essence of these cultures for you?"

A hint of fatigue crossed Xu Chengjun's face, but more than that, there was a smile that seemed to indicate he found the question itself quite amusing.

He wasn't provoked; instead, it was as if he had heard a thought-provoking question.

"You mean these areas?"

He nodded slightly. “I have read Mr. Inoue Yasushi’s literature, which expresses his deep affection for the Western Regions; I have read the rigorous research of the Shiba scholars; and I have thoroughly studied the Kyoto School’s thought. I have benefited greatly from all of these. But doesn’t this just demonstrate the vastness and charm of Chinese culture itself? It is like a mighty river, nourishing far more than just the land of its origin. Whether it is scholars from China, or sinologists from Japan, Korea, or even Europe and America, whoever can draw a sip from this river of culture and brew their own fine wine, this in itself is a manifestation of the vitality of Chinese culture, which is ‘all-encompassing and magnanimous.’ We are happy to see this happen and are grateful.”

Ryotaro Shiba seemed to have anticipated this answer about "cultural sharing." He pressed on, asking the more pointed and poignant core question: "Then why, at the source of your culture, on your own land, for a considerable period of time, was it 'not working'? Was it due to internal turmoil, or some kind of...break in cultural transmission?"

Xu Chengjun took a deep breath; he knew he had to give a more fundamental answer. His eyes sharpened and became clear, and his words were no longer euphemistic:

“Mr. Sima, you mentioned ‘fracture’. Have you thought about how this ‘fracture’ was caused?”

He paused briefly, allowing the power of the question itself to settle.

"When a ship's energy and resources are largely devoted to dealing with the covetous powers around it and resisting the most direct threats to its survival, how much energy does it have left to meticulously polish every piece of ancient porcelain beneath the deck? In the same era when your country's scholars could peacefully bury themselves in their studies, my ancestors faced the deepest crisis of national survival. And what caused this crisis, interrupting the leisurely development of our culture, was precisely the militarism you criticize, and the logic of colonization and aggression behind it. This is not a matter of cultural superiority or inferiority; it is a historical tragedy. Moreover,"

He then shifted his tone, displaying a composure and confidence rooted in his cultural heritage:

“Japanese culture, tracing its spiritual core and classical origins, is essentially a sub-civilization that grew up deeply nourished by Chinese culture. It’s not surprising that a gifted student who hasn’t experienced the direct trauma of the mother culture might demonstrate greater focus and prowess in certain specific areas of study for a period of time. But this doesn’t mean the teacher has lost the ability to teach, nor does it mean the student can forget the source of knowledge. The roots of culture have never been severed; they are simply waiting for the right soil and opportunity to revitalize. That’s exactly what we are doing now.”

These words place the differences in cultural studies within the broader context of modern history, pointing directly to the historical roots of the problem, while also clarifying its essence from a macro perspective of cultural inheritance.

Ryotaro Shiba was speechless for a moment. He could not deny the devastation that period of aggression had caused to China, nor could he refute the basic fact that Japanese culture was deeply influenced by China.

He opened his mouth, but it ultimately turned into a complex sigh.

After Xu Chengjun finished speaking, he calmly picked up his teacup and took a sip, as if his previous discussion, which touched on the cultural foundations, was just idle talk.

He put down his teacup, his gaze calmly returning to Ryotaro Shiba, and continued:
"Moreover, Mr. Sima, the future of Chinese cultural studies that you are concerned about is not only mine, but also that of countless Chinese scholars who are more outstanding and focused than me, who are working tirelessly in their respective fields. We have an unshirkable sense of responsibility and deep confidence in the inheritance of our culture."

The audience laughed.

That's really confidence!
Sima also smiled: "Xu Sang, you should be more humble and show more respect to those who came before you!"

He shook his head, his tone shifting slightly, taking on a scholarly rigor and sharpness:

"Of course, I respect scholars like yourself, but out of respect for your work, I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you of something. When I was studying your masterpiece, 'Xiang Yu and Liu Bang,' before my visit, I found that in your discussion of the military geography of the late Qin Dynasty, you seemed to have confused the routes of the feudal lords' advance before and after the Battle of Julu with the strategic situation of the Battle of Pengcheng. In particular, your judgment on the mobilization of Zhang Han's army has some points that are debatable compared with the original records in the Records of the Grand Historian and the Book of Han, as well as the archaeological discoveries made by Chinese scholars in recent years. This oversight may stem from your over-reliance on certain Japanese commentaries from the Edo period, rather than directly tracing back to the original Chinese texts."

His tone was calm, yet every word was clear:
"This is something I noticed by chance while reviewing and comparing materials in the half-day I spent before my trip. But, Mr. Sima, does this half-day discovery mean that my knowledge is broader and deeper than your lifelong research? Obviously not. It only shows that the path of scholarship is like walking on thin ice, as if facing an abyss. Any researcher, no matter where they come from, is inevitably affected by their own information environment, the scope of historical materials they have access to, and the limitations of their time. True scholarship is precisely through this kind of continuous cross-verification and candid dialogue that progresses and is perfected."

Ryotaro Shiba's lips twitched. Xu Chengjun's error was specific and professional, directly addressing the problem of reliance on "transferred materials" in his academic methods. He could not refute it immediately, especially since the other party had also brought up original historical records and archaeological discoveries.

His historical dignity, upon which he made his name, suffered a precise and heavy blow at this moment.

A subtle silence fell over the scene.

Seeing this, Tetsuko Kuroyanagi immediately tried to ease the situation in another way. She smiled and said, "Mr. Xu, you are truly a very confident and talented person. Someone as talented as you will shine anywhere in the world. I wonder if you have ever considered living and developing in Japan for a long time, like Mr. Chen Shunchen? Perhaps the research environment and reader atmosphere here would be a better environment for your creative work."

Xu Chengjun shook his head with a smile almost without hesitation, his gaze gentle yet firm:

“Mr. Sima, Ms. Kuroyanagi, thank you for your kindness. But you may not quite understand, or rather, you underestimate the mindset of my generation of Chinese scholars.”

His voice was steady and powerful:
"The reason I can so readily acknowledge the gap between my country and yours in certain aspects, and so honestly face the humiliations our nation has suffered in the past and the problems we have encountered in the process of modernization, is not because I despise her, but because of a deeper emotion—I love my country. This love is not blind arrogance, but a profound self-confidence built upon thousands of years of civilization. We dare to face our scars because we firmly believe that we have the ability to heal them and a future."

He paused briefly, then elevated his perspective to the level of civilization:
"In a sense, I also 'love' Japan. Because Japanese culture, especially its essence, has been nurtured and integrated since the Tang and Song dynasties, becoming one of the most splendid and thought-provoking branches of Chinese civilization overseas. We share the wisdom from the pre-Qin period, the poetic sentiment from the Tang and Song dynasties, and the philosophical thoughts of Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming. This cultural affinity is unbreakable. But a branch is still a branch; the roots of culture and the revival of subjective consciousness must take place in the mother body. My mission, my stage, my roots are all there. There is vast land waiting to be cultivated, hundreds of millions of compatriots yearning for spiritual nourishment, and the whole story of an ancient civilization revitalized in the new era. These are irreplaceable by any foreign land."

His final words were like a final hammer blow:
"Like fallen leaves returning to their roots, cultural ambassadors must eventually return to their origins, not to close themselves off, but to draw upon the most fundamental strength so that they can engage in a more equal and in-depth dialogue with the world, including Japan, in the future."

Finally finished!
Seizing the opportunity, Tetsuko Kuroyanagi immediately chimed in, her tone becoming incredibly light and admiring, as if the sharp exchange that had just taken place had never happened:
"Wow! I never expected that Mr. Xu would not only be so insightful in his literary creations, but also so talented in his research and understanding of traditional culture!"

She pretended to suddenly remember something, took a cue card from the director behind her, and read it aloud in her most characteristic tone—an exaggerated yet endearing way of introducing "amazing facts" to the audience:
"I remember now! In Xu-san's introduction, he is not only a renowned genius writer in China, but also hailed by Chinese academia as the leading figure in the younger generation of literary research! Wow! That's impressive enough, right? But there's something even more crucial!"

She deliberately kept everyone in suspense, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Xu Chengjun and the camera:
"Xu-san is also a music composer! Two of his songs have achieved phenomenal popularity on the other side of the strait! And that's not all! He's fluent in Spanish and English, and as you all heard, he can also speak Japanese! My goodness, what an incredibly talented young man! He's like a character straight out of a manga!"

This series of "revelation" instantly pulled the audience away from the heavy debate on history and culture, turning the focus to the amazement and display of Xu Chengjun's personal talent. It cleverly resolved the awkward situation and deeply engraved Xu Chengjun's near-perfect image in the hearts of all the audience members.

"So, Mr. Xu, could you please play a beautiful piece of music to conclude today's performance?"

(End of this chapter)