Back to 1984: I built a chicken farm on a barren mountain.

It was already noon when Chen Wenfeng came out of the village committee.

When I got home, my mother, Wang Guizhi, had already prepared lunch.

Lunch was simple: stir-fried chives and eggs.

The chives were freshly cut from the backyard vegetable garden, and the eggs were taken from the henhouse that morning.

The staple food was leftover cornbread from last night.

This reminded him of Du Fu's poem:

"In the night rain, spring chives are cut; in the newly cooked rice, millet is served."

Although life is simple and unpretentious now, it is much more luxurious than it was in Du Fu's time.

Because there are vegetables in the garden this season, we have a relatively wider variety of food to eat.

Every day, my mother would perform magic tricks, trying her best to create different flavors with limited ingredients.

Chen Wenfeng ate five cornbreads in one go. He was young now, and his appetite was much greater than before his rebirth.

After lunch, he took the newspaper, found some paper and pen, and went out.

Tall poplar trees line both sides of the road, their green leaves swaying gently, and early cicadas are already chirping.

A summer breeze rustled through the wheat fields outside the village.

The wheat had already sprouted awns, but had not yet filled with grains, and gleamed with a faint green light in the afternoon sun.

In the pond near the village, groups of two or three teenagers were swimming and bathing.

Chen Wenfeng was in a good mood, humming a song he loved in his past life as he walked; the song was called "The Prose Poem Written by My Father."

The crops had not yet been harvested in 1984.

My daughter was sleeping so sweetly in my arms.

I don't have time to watch the outdoor movie tonight.

My wife reminded me to fix the pedal on the sewing machine.

......

Walking through the wheat field and across the small stone bridge, Chen Wenfeng arrived at a watermelon field north of Chenjiazhuang.

There is a small stone house in the watermelon field. Although it is small, it is quite well-maintained. It was built by my grandfather when he was alive.

At this time, the watermelons have just started to bear fruit and are far from needing any care.

But Chen Wenfeng liked the environment here, so he came to stay as soon as the weather warmed up.

He carefully waded through the watermelon vines, entered the stone house, closed the door, and habitually propped a stone behind the door.

It's quiet here, which makes it easier for him to concentrate on writing.

However, he knew he didn't aspire to be a great writer like Liang Xiaosheng, Mo Yan, or Yu Hua, since becoming such a great writer requires talent.

Even though their masterpieces had not yet been published.

Moreover, writing is a very difficult task, requiring one to endure loneliness.

If you're looking to make money, you might as well stock up on some Moutai stocks or buy two houses that are being demolished as compensation.

When Xun warned future generations "not to be empty-headed writers," he was absolutely prescient.

At least for now, true literary figures cannot be passed on to the next generation through blood, mother-child transmission, or sex.

In his past life, he had seen a poem about excrement and urine written by a certain second-generation writer, Zhen Shen, which sparked a lot of controversy online.

He still remembers two of them.

A song titled "Snowy Day":

Let's go pee together.

You peed a line.

I

I peed in a hole.

.....

There's also a song called "Cucumbers Are More Than Just Food":

When you're lonely,

Cucumbers are undoubtedly the best in the world.

.......

I didn't see anything particularly good about the snowy day. As for the cucumber, perhaps it has a deeper meaning.

This is something only someone who has experienced it can truly understand.

Chen Wenfeng had no ambition to become a great writer; he only wanted to write essays and sketches for lower-level newspapers or magazines.

After all, the royalties were still quite considerable at that time.

More importantly, in this era, those who can read newspapers and submit articles are definitely not peasants from the fields.

By writing articles, you are very likely to gain a few fellow writers and build some connections for yourself.

He was absolutely certain of that.

Rebirth is not about empty ideals, but about understanding human relationships and the ways of the world.

He reread the two articles that explored whether the "midnight bell" in "A Night Mooring by Maple Bridge" was reasonable.

The article titled "A Tentative Discussion on the Fictionality of 'Midnight Bell Tolls on the Passenger Boat' in Zhang Ji's 'Midnight Bell Tolls'" (signed by Xi Yanzhai) uses personal experience as a reference.

The main point is that, based on common sense, temples do not ring bells at midnight, so the author believes that Zhang Ji's poem may be a forgery by later generations.

In his article, he also listed several poems that were included in the Complete Tang Poems, but which were later written and forged by others.

The article titled "Poetry Can Evidence History: Midnight Bells May Have Been a Temple Custom at the Time," authored by Sha Bixuan, is based on textual evidence.

He believes that the absence of such midnight bell ringing in modern times does not mean that it did not exist in the Tang Dynasty. He insists on using poetry as the standard, stating that what is written is what is seen.

Chen Wenfeng rested his chin on his hand, read it carefully, and felt that both sides made a lot of sense.

Moreover, this is a literary field, where there is no clear-cut right or wrong.

After a moment's thought, he picked up a pen and wrote a title on the paper:

"Poetry Has No Fixed Interpretation: Also on the Midnight Bell of Hanshan Temple".

The article's structure is very clear and concise, consisting of two main points:

First, it affirmed the viewpoints of Xiyanzhai and Shabixuan.

Secondly, it was proposed that the poet Zhang Ji mainly used the image of bell sounds to express his aspirations and feelings.

Whether the bell rings at midnight or not seems to be of little importance.

It's like when someone is happy, they hum a tune and have a drink.

After finishing writing it, Chen Wenfeng was satisfied; it was professional!

These views are certainly not Chen Wenfeng's original ideas; they all stem from his reading in his previous life.

However, Chen Wenfeng also added his own views, and he revised it several times afterward.

After the final revision, Chen Wenfeng took a new sheet of paper and copied it out.

By the time I finished, it was already dark.

I already told my mother at noon that I wouldn't be going home for lunch.

He ate two pieces of cornbread he had brought and then lay down on the small wooden bed to doze off.

A rumble of thunder sounded outside; it might rain.

The rain showers at this time of year come unexpectedly.

From afar, in the direction of Chenjiazhuang, came the distant, drawn-out barking of dogs.

A flash of lightning streaked across the southern sky.

The cabin lit up briefly, then went dark again.

Rustling sounds...

Faint footsteps could be heard outside.

Huh?

Is someone arriving?

It's already this late...

Chen Wenfeng immediately became alert, got out of bed, and hid in a corner of the room.

Less than half a minute later, footsteps were heard, and they gradually approached the door of the stone house.

Immediately afterwards, a great force pushed the door open.

The door was old and creaked as it was pushed.

Fortunately, there were stones blocking the door from the inside, so it couldn't be pushed open.

Suddenly, a sweet, cloying female voice came from outside, its tone slightly reproachful:

"If you can't push me away, then don't. I already said I wasn't coming here; it's dark and about to rain. Can't I just stay home?"

Then came the man's reply:

"Perhaps the door is stuck. Don't I feel unsafe at home?"

Holy crap, it's Uncle Chen Shouxin!

The other woman is obvious – it's Accountant Wang's wife!

"But they can't walk anymore, and this road is difficult to walk on."

"After I've eaten, I'll carry you back..."

Chen Wenfeng thought that it was probably because he had scared his third uncle on the day the land was divided that he dared not mess around at Accountant Wang's house anymore.

Soon, the outside became bustling with activity.

Chen Wenfeng suppressed a laugh as their voices drifted in through the window and the crack in the door.

Accountant Wang's wife has such a beautiful voice!

Chen Wenfeng complained.

Jin Sangzi Throat Lozenges probably haven't been released yet these days; if they were, I'd definitely use them all the time.

That voice, high-pitched and resonant, carried far and wide.

No wonder you got caught red-handed!

After a while, the noise outside gradually subsided.

The barking of dogs in the distance gradually faded away...

Uncle Chen Shouxin carried Accountant Wang's wife on his back, panting heavily, and walked away with heavy steps.