My era, 1979!

Chapter 71: The Master's Personal Instruction
After eating a few bites, Xu Chengjun resumed his writing.

What is your hometown?

It's that 2024 that can never be returned to.
But Xujiatun is his spiritual home in this life.

It was the starting point for everything in his future.

He wrote "Where wild roses grow is my hometown," meaning that this field became his root, and that those people struggling to survive in hardship made him understand the true meaning of "home."

The rose thorns Ah Xiu touched, the web woven from the chirping of insects at night...

These heartwarming yet poignant details made him feel like he was back home in a foreign land.

Words became his way of communicating with this land, and he planted his affection, respect and expectations between the lines.

Ultimately, this article is Xu Chengjun's "spiritual diary".
He will use the brambles and new shoots of wild roses.

He wrote down his respect for the land, his understanding of the times, and also the most genuine commitment of a writer.

Good writing always grows from the soil of life.

Suffering leaves its mark, but hope is always stronger than thorns.

Life may be full of thorns, but there are always new buds that struggle to reach the sunlight through the cracks.

It took a long time before I was able to detach myself from the emotions conveyed in the words.

Who is Ah Xiu?

Who is Brother Pillar?
It is an old story from Xujiatun, dating back 77 years.

Xu Chengjun rubbed his wrist, looked up at the wall clock, and saw that it was almost one o'clock. He looked up and saw that Professor Sun was at the door carrying a ceramic jar and a cloth bag in his right hand.

"Professors, let me see how your writing is going. I also asked you to bring you some food."

"You must be starving because you haven't eaten."

Sun, the academic affairs officer, smiled and placed the cup and cloth bag on the table, his attitude noticeably improving.

Oh dear, should I be hungry or not?

Forget it, let's cherish food!
"You've come at the perfect time. I just finished writing this and was wondering where to find professors when you arrived."

"To be honest, I am a little hungry. Thank you, and please thank the professors for me."

Sun, the academic affairs officer, grinned and said, "Look how polite our future 'sacred son of the sect' is. When people are happy, their words become more bold and unrestrained."

"Don't be so formal. I'm a little over ten years older than you. Just call me Brother Sun. I'm from Shanghai. When you come to register for school, you can come find me."

Call me brother!

The last editor-in-chief, Zhou, who was called "brother," was truly his brother!
New bamboo shoots grow taller than old bamboo branches, relying entirely on the support of the old trunks.

What? Not tall enough yet!
That's fine.

Xu readily agreed, readily accepting the offer and declaring, "Then I'll call him Brother Sun!"

"Hey, just call me bro."

"You eat quickly, I'll go get the professors in ten minutes."

"Thank you, Brother Sun."

Once this guy started calling me that, our relationship progressed quite a bit.

Speaking of Xu Chengjun's journey, he has encountered many benefactors who have helped him along the way. It seems that his journey has been very smooth, turning the impossible into possible.

But why would they help you out?

Because you are valuable, respectable, and a partner.

They said they would have ten minutes, but fifteen minutes passed before Dean Sun led the professors in.

Zhu Dongrun was naturally the leader, and the professors all looked a little unnatural as they sat down.

Zhang Peiheng cleared his throat and said, "Xiao Xu, after discussions among several professors, it has been decided that Director Zhu Dongrun will serve as your graduate advisor."

Who?
Zhu Dongrun?
He originally thought that the least likely person to be this old gentleman was him.

But sometimes the impossible is the most likely.

This old gentleman had been a staunch supporter of Xu Chengjun from the very beginning. Was 83 too old? Unable to teach?
Absolutely not!
Historically, Zhu Dongrun wrote in his application to join the Party at the age of 83: "I am willing to use my remaining years and strength to cultivate more academic talents for the Party."

What year was it written? This year.

In 1978, Zhu Dongrun enrolled the first batch of master's students specializing in Tang and Song literature, including Chen Shangjun, who later became a renowned scholar.

In 1979, he continued to guide this group of students, personally teaching them for two hours every week, insisting on "pursuing knowledge using the most arduous methods".

In this era, the degree system had not yet been established, and the mentor system had only just begun. The mentor-apprentice system, with its core, was still a key support for the revival of higher education in China.

Let's leave aside how future generations will judge us for now.

But right now...

This is indeed a great thing for Xu Chengjun. What does he need most?
Fudan University's platform, Zhu Dongrun's great legacy, and the academic resources behind him.

After all, there are quite a few obstacles to what he will do in the future.

but
He glanced at Zhang Peiheng; wouldn't that mean...?
Senior brother?
Zhang Peiheng could tell this kid had no good intentions. What are you so smug about?! Am I done talking?

"Forming an army"

The form of address has changed again!

Zhang Peiheng's gaze lingered on Xu Chengjun's face for a moment behind his black-rimmed glasses, his tone somewhat serious.

"But you have to understand that Director Zhu has not only been in charge of the department's academic planning over the years, but also has several key research projects under his supervision, and he has indeed supervised quite a few master's students."

"It's not that Elder Zhu is unwilling to put in more effort, but he simply can't be in two places at once."

"His time needs to be reserved for grasping the big picture and setting the research framework. He can't afford to waste his energy on things like polishing the details and sorting out the literature."

At this point, he glanced at the professors present, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly: "After discussion, it has been decided that from now on you will attend lectures and academic seminars with Professor Zhu, and he will personally oversee the framework of your papers at key points. As for daily literature review, theoretical analysis, and writing revisions, you will follow me."

The last sentence was stated with absolute certainty: "My requirements are not low. You need to submit two book reports every week. If you encounter any problems, come to me anytime. Don't even think about slacking off."

Zhang Peiheng: Still showing off?

Xu Chengjun smacked his lips, tasting the flavor.

It is estimated that the professors could not reach an agreement, and Zhang Peiheng's current age and academic achievements were not enough to give him a significant advantage over the others.

Therefore,
His nominal mentor was Zhu Dongrun.

But his actual mentor was Zhang Peiheng.

So here's the question: should I call him "teacher" or "senior brother"?

In the end, Wang Shuizhao smoothed things over. What could he say? Old Zhu had intervened. He could only congratulate Comrade Xu. He then recalled the essay that Xu Chengjun had just written.

I casually remarked, "Professor Zhu, Professor Zhang, and all of you professors, shall we take this opportunity to see Comrade Xu's writing skills?"

"Don't forget, this kid was originally supposed to get a recommendation based on his literary works!"

The professors passed it around and read it for about half an hour; it was 2500 words long.

Zhu Dongrun sat on the wooden chair, his gaze lingering for a moment on the line "The new buds of wild roses have melted the thin frost." His gaze behind his reading glasses softened considerably, and he pursed his lips almost imperceptibly, as if recalling some distant scene.

Zhang Pei leaned against the edge of the table, holding half a pencil in his hand, but didn't leave any mark on the paper.

Wang Shuizhao's hand, holding the enamel mug, froze in mid-air, and the tea he was about to bring to his lips paused.

He gazed at the line "the stitches are so dense they look like stars scattered on a cloth," his eyebrows slightly raised, then relaxed, and he let out a soft "hmm" in his throat, as if echoing the warmth in the words.

The cigarette between Jia Zhifang's fingers burned out long ash, but he didn't notice.

Su Liancheng turned the pages very quietly, as if afraid of disturbing something. When he saw "Axiu pressed the new sprout to her chest," his fingers tightened around the manuscript, then relaxed, and his eyelids lowered, concealing the fleeting emotion in his eyes.

The meeting room was quiet, with only the occasional chirping of cicadas from outside the window.

Zhu Dongrun was the first to fold the manuscript paper, his movements slow but neat. When he looked up at Xu Chengjun, his eyes were full of praise: "These buds have come to life."

Wang Shuizhao left a message: "When school starts, write a study on a genealogical chart with me."

A heads-up: the next chapter will be an essay.

(End of this chapter)