A perfect score on the college entrance exam? The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has astonis

His smile was bitter.

It felt like swallowing a mouthful of bitter melon.

He read through the several thousand words he had written from beginning to end, then closed the book and set it aside.

There is no harm without comparison.

His article uses technical terms, discusses meter and rhyme, and analyzes techniques; the whole thing is showing off how much he knows about lotus stories.

Chen Mo's piece, however, is less than 150 words long, contains no obscure characters or allusions, and can be understood even by junior high school students.

But it's just these 150 words.

He crushed all the articles he had written about lotus flowers over the past thirty years into ashes.

He put down his teacup and picked up his phone.

I dialed the number of the association's secretary-general.

Secretary-General Zhou was organizing documents in his office.

I was startled when I saw the caller ID.

Chairman Sun usually doesn't make phone calls directly; he always has his secretary notify him first.

He answered the phone, his voice tense: "Chairman Sun, you wanted to see me?"

"Old Zhou, how far have things progressed with Chen Mo's membership application?"

Secretary-General Zhou was taken aback.

"We contacted him last month, and he said he would think about it. We have been waiting for his reply."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Secretary-General Zhou thought the signal had been cut off and was about to speak when Sun Heting's voice came through, deep and muffled like thunder.

"I won't wait any longer, I'll invite him myself."

Secretary-General Zhou's hand trembled slightly.

"Chairman Sun, you personally... He's just an eighteen-year-old student—"

"Were you able to write 'On the Love of Lotus' when you were eighteen?"

Sun Heting's voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail driven into a wooden board.

Secretary-General Zhou remained silent.

"Could you have written 'Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng', 'Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River', or 'Exhortation to Learning' when you were eighteen?"

Sun Heting's voice carried a hint of excitement.

"Old Zhou, I've written about lotus flowers my whole life. After reading his 'On the Love of Lotus' today, I feel like all the stuff I wrote before was just waste paper. I'm not being modest, it's the truth, do you understand?"

Secretary-General Zhou opened his mouth as if to say something, but said nothing.

"He's considering it, but we're not. Could you help me find his contact information? I'll call him myself."

Secretary-General Zhou took a deep breath.

"Yes, Chairman Sun, I'll check right away."

The phone hangs up.

Sun Heting put his phone on the table, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside the window is the courtyard where he has lived for thirty years, with an old locust tree and a pot of lotus flowers under the tree, which he planted himself.

Every summer it blooms a few flowers, some white and some pink, not many, but each one blooms very carefully.

He stared at the pot of lotus flowers for a long time.

Then he turned back to his desk and picked up a pen.

Four characters were written on a blank sheet of paper.

"It rises from the mud unsullied."

Looking at these six characters, he thought of Chen Mo's "On the Love of Lotus," and then he thought of the articles he had written.

Suddenly I realized that he had spent his entire life explaining what "emerging from the mud unsullied" meant.

Use various allusions, rhetoric, and other people's words to prove that you understand.

Chen Mo used only five words to make everyone understand what it means to "emerge from the mud unsullied".

It's not an explanation, it's a presentation.

The phone on the table rang.

It was a reply from Secretary-General Zhou.

"Chairman Sun, I found it. I've sent you Chen Mo's phone number. Also—I just contacted him again to let him know you were going to call, but he said..."

Secretary-General Zhou paused for a moment, his tone somewhat awkward.

He said this was the fifth time the provincial writers' association had called him, and that he had no interest in the writers' association now.

Sun Heting's finger paused on the edge of the phone for a moment.

"The fifth one?"

"Yes, when we contacted him before, we didn't reveal your intention. We just asked him to submit the materials and go through the process. He said he would think about it."

"During this period, at least four provincial writers' associations contacted him and invited him to join, but he refused them all. One province even said they could skip all the review process and directly admit him as a member, but he still refused."

Sun Heting was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled.

"Interesting. It's not that he's not interested in the Writers' Association; it's that he's not interested in anything he finds unchallenging."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Give me the phone, I'll make the call."

Sun Heting dialed that number.

The phone rang three times, then I answered it.

"Hello, are you Chen Mo?"

"Yes, who are you?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was young and calm, without a trace of tension or anticipation, as if it were a takeout order.

"I am a member of the China Writers Association. My surname is Sun, Sun Heting."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Hello there."

The sound remained calm, without any ripples.

Sun Heting leaned back in his chair and slowed his voice.

"Chen Mo, I'm calling to invite you to join the China Writers Association. It's not about going through procedures, submitting materials, or undergoing review. I'm personally inviting you."

There was another second of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Mr. Sun, thank you, but do you know, you are the fifth writers' association to call me. The previous four provincial writers' associations, I said I would consider it. I wasn't just being polite, I really was considering it, but the result of my consideration is that I have no interest in writers' associations right now."

Sun Heting tapped his fingers lightly on the table. He wasn't angry; instead, he smiled.

"I know, but I'm different from them."

His voice lowered.

"I have studied lotus flowers my whole life and written articles about lotus flowers my whole life."

"After reading your 'On the Love of Lotus' today, I feel like I've wasted my whole life."

"It's not an exaggeration, it's true. You wrote what I wanted to write but couldn't, so I came to invite you. I'm not representing the Writers' Association, but representing an old man who has been writing worthless paper for thirty years."

There was a three-second silence on the other end of the phone.

"Chen Mo,"

His voice was a little hoarse.

"You just said you weren't interested in the Writers' Association. I'd like to ask—is it that you're not interested, or that you don't have the time?"

The person on the other end of the phone thought for a moment.

"Both, but more than anything, it's about not wanting to be tied down. Whether it's the Writers' Association, the Association, or any other organization, it all takes time."

"Meetings, events, seminars, reviews—I want to use that time for other things."

Sun Heting smiled.

"I understand. I won't force you, but I want you to know that the doors of the China Writers Association are always open for you."

"You don't need to attend meetings, activities, or seminars. You just need to do one thing—keep writing. We won't take up your time; we just want to read it as soon as you finish."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Thank you, Mr. Sun."

I'll give you an answer tomorrow.

Sun Heting opened his mouth, wanting to say, "Didn't you say you had considered it?"

But he swallowed the words back down his throat.

He thought, this is genius.

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