Rebirth 04: Starting from Taking an Unconventional Approach

"Do you think it's that person?" Zhang Ruiyi asked, opening the passenger door. "The one who coughed at the entrance of the inpatient ward garden earlier?"

Han Fei looked at the car keys: "Hmm, based on Aunt's description, it does look a lot like that person."

"So, he wasn't just passing by by chance last time outside the inpatient ward garden, but deliberately stood there listening to us talk?"

"Maybe." Han Fei got into the car and started the engine. "If that's the case, then that person is probably an old acquaintance of my father's. He came to the hospital twice but didn't come in or say anything, which means he wasn't there to visit, or at least not in a normal way. It's more like he was observing, hesitating, or trying to confirm something."

The car drove out of the hospital parking lot and onto the main road.

"I still think that person is a bit strange, acting suspiciously," Zhang Ruiyi said.

"Well, whatever his purpose is, at least he hasn't caused any trouble, made any threats, or left any messages, so he doesn't pose any immediate danger. Anyway, let's keep an eye on him."

......

The glass doors of the Jiaotong University Affiliated Hospital closed behind Chen Dajian. He stood on the sidewalk waiting as a woman pushing a stroller walked past him. A red sports car sped past, and he saw his own fleeting reflection in the car window and the large glass doors of the hospital behind him.

He thought he was mentally prepared for whatever might happen. But it wasn't until he reached the hospital room door that he realized how unprepared he was. Han Baohua was his most respected former president, and he longed to see him one last time in the final moments of his life, yet he was afraid to discuss the transformation of Qingniao Publishing House. He feared he might be unable to resist offering criticism, which would hurt Han Baohua, and even more so, he feared Han Baohua might try to persuade him to accept reality.

Several more cars drove by on the road. He waved to a taxi, which stopped beside the sidewalk. The driver leaned over and opened the back door. It was rare to see taxi drivers offering this door-opening service these days. Perhaps the driver thought he looked like he might collapse at any moment, Chen Dajian thought. Now he even needed someone to pity him just to get into a car.

"Yong An Ju," Chen Dajian said, shifting his body to sit in the middle of the back seat.

"Okay." The taxi drove off the sidewalk.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi arrived at Zhoushan Road in the HK district, drove into the narrow street that was once a gathering place for Jewish refugees during World War II, pulled over, and the gasoline engine roared.

Chen Dajian paid thirty yuan, and the driver thanked him repeatedly when he heard that he didn't need to give change. He then used the same technique to open the back door for him.

A woman with a handbag slung over her shoulder and one hand pressed against her stomach sat on a bench under a sycamore tree at the entrance of the Yong'anju residential complex. Her eye-catching tiger-print top showed that her fashion sense hadn't changed at all. The woman stood up as soon as she saw Chen Dajian.

Chen Dajian took a breath, encasing himself in a steel-like shell. It was Zhu Tong.

"Teacher Chen, how have you been lately?"

"I won't die," Chen Dajian said, startled by his own angry voice. "Say what you have to say here. It's too messy upstairs; it's not convenient for entertaining guests."

"Teacher Chen, I called you..."

"What exactly do you want?"

Zhu Tong looked at him with an innocent and bewildered expression, brushed aside a lock of hair that was light-colored from the sun, took a deep breath, and then reached into her bag to take out an envelope and hand it to him.

"Teacher, please take a look at this first."

"What is this?" Chen Dajian asked, without taking it.

"Teacher Chen, please just take a look." Zhu Tong's eyes pleaded, but there was something else hidden in them.

Chen Dajian hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the envelope. He opened it to find a printed joint letter, titled "Joint Statement on Resisting Vulgar Publications and Purifying the Literary Market." Below were the handwritten signatures of several people. His finger slid across the list, revealing names like Professor Wang, Writer Chen, and Editor-in-Chief Liu of *Jiangnan* magazine—all well-known figures in the literary circle. He tucked the letter back into the envelope.

"Teacher Chen," Zhu Tong said, "you saw that magazine, Qingniao, right? 'Borrowing Seeds' and 'Living a Widow'—what kind of garbage is that? It's a disgrace to literature! Now they've got their hands on the mobile company, and magazines are everywhere. I heard they sold tens of thousands of copies in just two weeks. If this continues, where will there be any place for serious literature?"

Chen Dajian merely glanced at Zhu Tong without replying.

"We plan to publish this open letter in the Literary Gazette next week, and the materials will also be submitted to the publishing bureau. Teacher, you are the most influential person of our generation. How many people were convinced by your article criticizing the superficiality of the literary world back then? This time, we need you to take the lead again. With you leading the way, we have confidence."

Chen Dajian shook his head and handed the letter back to Zhu Tong: "I won't sign it."

Zhu Tong looked at him in surprise: "Why?"

Chen Dajian turned to enter the residential area, but Zhu Tong was faster. She took two steps in front of Chen Dajian, blocking him between the gate and the gate, her breathing rapid.

"Teacher, you were the first to leave Qingniao, and you looked down on their ways the most! Now that they're riding roughshod over us, how come you're... "

"You can leave now, Zhu Tong."

"I'm not leaving!"

Chen Dajian looked at her, knowing he couldn't explain this to her. Eight years ago, Chen Dajian first met Zhu Tong, a recent graduate of the Chinese Department of East China Normal University, at a writers' association meeting. He heard her say, "I'd rather not publish than write something I don't believe in." At that time, Chen Dajian believed that Zhu Tong was the same kind of person as him. But now they were different. Zhu Tong could still be angry and stubborn for literature, while he was about to reach the end of his life.

"Do you think this will work?" Chen Dajian asked, his own harsh voice filled with anger. "Do you think an open letter can stop them? Do you think the people at the publishing bureau will care about this kind of thing? Who is your joint letter for? Who will take it seriously? In their eyes, we who have been writing for decades are nothing but a fart!"

"But teacher..."

"I said I'm not getting involved. You can argue, make a scene, shout—that's your business. I'm old; I don't have the energy to put on this kind of show. Can you leave now?"

Chen Dajian saw that Zhu Tong's eyes were beginning to fill with tears, so he stepped aside. Chen Dajian staggered into the residential area, then stopped.

"Zhu Tong, tell me, what have we been writing for all these years? Is it for others to see? Or is it to make ourselves feel like we're still something?" Chen Dajian asked without turning around.

He waited a while, but didn't hear Zhu Tong's reply, so he said, "I used to think it was the former. Now I'm not sure." He continued walking forward and added, "If I wanted to hurt him, I wouldn't have used this method."