Rebirth 04: Starting from Taking an Unconventional Approach

Wild Grass took a deep drag on his cigarette, the paper crackling and the flame glowing red. He hesitated, groaning as he exhaled smoke, as if unsure of what he wanted to say. He tried again, and finally spoke on the third attempt.

"President Han, what you said makes me blush. What I was saying wasn't writing, it was just pouring out what's been bottled up inside. There's a real-life story about Liu Chunmei in our village. That woman went mad and jumped into the Widow's River. I was on the riverbank that day. I saw her floating on the water, her hair spread out like a clump of black seaweed. I wanted to go down and pull her out, but I can't swim. Later, they pulled her out, and I glanced at her. Her eyes were open, as if asking me: Why didn't you save me? When I was writing, my mind was filled with images of her when she was alive, I was thinking about her whether I was walking or sitting."

Han Fei looked at him and waited quietly. He estimated that this new author, who had submitted his first manuscript to a publishing house through the New Rural Fiction Competition, was about fifty years old. Few people at that age could still open up their inner wounds to others and write down their most painful experiences.

Wild Grass's jaw muscles tightened and then relaxed: "After I got back, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those eyes. Later, I thought, I should write down her story. Maybe if I wrote it down, I could let it go. When I wrote the part where Li Laowai rushed into her house, I started crying as I wrote it."

"After you finished writing, did you put it down?"

Wild Grass shook her head: "No. After I finished writing, I couldn't sleep even more. Before, I only thought about those eyes, but now even people like Li Laowai and Zhao Youcai have popped into my head."

Han Fei's eyes widened: "They...they all jumped in too?"

"No, no," Wild Grass quickly said. "After Liu Chunmei died, Li Laowai went mad. He would sit by the Widow's River all day, talking to the water, saying, 'Chunmei, I've come to keep you company.' The following year, the river flooded again and swept him away. His body was never found. As for Zhao Youcai, he was transferred. I heard he went to another place to continue being the Party Secretary. But I always felt that he wouldn't have a good ending."

Han Fei stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forward: "Teacher Wild Grass, you just said those people have all gotten into your head. Besides them, who else is in your head?"

Wild Grass exhaled a puff of smoke from his nose, his Adam's apple bobbed, and his fingers suddenly reached out to grab his chin.

"I have so many people on my mind. Like the old bachelor at the west end of the village, who has gone to pay respects at Liu Chunmei's grave every Qingming Festival for the past two years. And Old Wang, the gatekeeper at the construction site, who always likes to walk towards the women's dormitory when he patrols at night. Once, the foreman caught him and scolded him for being indecent. He said that his daughter was working in another city, and that seeing someone else's daughter was like blessing his own daughter..."

Just then, Han Fei heard someone calling him. He looked in the direction of the voice and saw Old Huai walking towards them with a bright smile on his face and a plastic bag in his hand.

Han Fei nodded to Old Locust Tree, then turned to Wild Grass: "Teacher Wild Grass, could you please stay a little longer after the meeting and we can talk some more?"

Wild Grass bit its lower lip, as if it wanted to speak, but only nodded slightly. Han Fei patted its shoulder and walked towards the old locust tree.

"President Han," Old Huai said, handing the plastic bag to Han Fei, "I've finally found you! This is homemade rice wine, the yeast was made by my mother herself, and it's been buried in the cellar back home for three years. I even told my wife that this wine should be reserved for the most important person. I brought it here today for President Han to try."

"Teacher Lao Huai, you brought something with you when you came to receive the award."

Old Huai waved his hands repeatedly: "What's the big deal? President Han, you don't know, I've had that article 'Borrowing Seeds' in my belly for twenty years."

"Twenty years?"

"That was a story I heard back in the 1980s when I was a private school teacher in the countryside. I didn't dare to write it down then, and even if I did, there was nowhere to publish it. If it weren't for your approval, that story would have remained buried in my heart."

"Teacher Lao Huai, you're too kind," Han Fei said with a smile. "Your story won't stay buried inside. What truly grows from the heart can't be hidden. Sooner or later, it will find its own path, its own light, and its own people who can understand it. I've simply lit a lamp for you on that path. I accept this wine. You're the star of the show today, please sit over there."

......

"Dear teachers, a month ago, I told you that Qingniao was going to transform and create something new. At the time, many people didn't understand, and some even said that I was showing a regression in literature and pandering to lowbrow tastes. Today, a month later, I can tell you all that we've succeeded on this path!"

Han Fei stood at the far end of the conference room, under a dark blue velvet cloth, displaying online conversion rate data and physical magazine sales figures printed on A0 paper. The conference room erupted in applause, which lasted for nearly two minutes.

Nineteen of the twenty authors arrived; the third was from out of town and couldn't make it. Lu Hai specially dialed that author's number, put it on speakerphone, placed the phone on the table, and asked him to participate virtually.

The authors went up on stage one by one to receive their awards and give their acceptance speeches. After presenting the certificates, Han Fei stepped aside, allowing the authors to stand alone and receive the applause. Once all the authors had received their awards, Han Fei stepped forward, bowed again, and cheers erupted. Finally, everyone stood under the dark blue velvet cloth, and Zhang Ruiyi took photos to commemorate the occasion. Everyone hugged each other, and the editors and authors were all moved to tears.

Old Huai held Han Fei's hand tightly and took out a handkerchief to wipe away his tears.

......

"Teacher Wild Grass, please come in." Han Fei opened the office door and stepped aside to invite Wild Grass into the room.

Wild grass stepped through the door and looked around.

"Please sit down," Han Fei said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.

Wild Grass sat down and hesitated for a moment: "President Han, I'm just a junior high school graduate who works tying steel bars on construction sites. The contract you gave me, with its terms like guaranteed minimum payment, profit sharing, and exclusive agreement... it scares me just hearing them. I'm afraid that if I sign it and then can't write anymore, I'll be letting down this money, and even more so, I'll be letting you down for thinking so highly of me."

Han Fei brought over a steaming cup of tea, placed it in front of Ye Cao, then walked around to his desk, sat down, and stretched out his long legs.

"Professor Wild Grass, do you think that the despair of Liu Chunmei, the idiocy of Li Laowai, and the ruthlessness of Zhao Youcai in 'Living as a Widow'—those subtle, bone-deep feelings—could be fabricated by a Chinese literature professor sitting in his study? The most valuable thing about your manuscript is its earthy, bloody, and tearful quality. That's your experience, a gift from God, and has nothing to do with your academic qualifications. What we're looking for is someone like Wild Grass who can write about this kind of real pain, not some bland, conventional bonsai."

Wild Grass looked down at his cup of tea. Han Fei handed him a cigarette, which he took out and brought to his lips.