Emergency Exit

Author: Gu Xiang
Publisher:
Publish Date: 1999-09-01
Features: The preface was written by Chen Jianjiang for Self-Portraying Youth, and the fact itself isn’t "youthful." Self-Portraying Youth really needs a preface? Does anyone read the preface of Self-Portraying Youth? As for me, I wouldn’t. Facing the figures of youth, instead of letting them showcase their talents, we first send an early-gray-haired person to ramble on endlessly—how annoying. As someone who writes novels by profession, I have no other skills, but I do have some insight into human nature. To be honest, letting me do this annoying thing is really forcing me. Good kids, just make do with it. Consider me your beloved principal. Stand at attention! Attention! Now, please allow the principal to speak—
The principal is ashamed to have read the books you wrote. At 16 or 17, the principal was busy with the Red Guards. The principal didn’t write books, but the principal burned books. The principal was sent to dig coal after burning books and suddenly discovered the value of books, starting to steal them to read. Kids, at 16 or 17, you’ve written so many books—truly impressive! You’ve reached the age of the principal, and that’s something, right? The principal is delighted to have read your books.
Don’t think the principal doesn’t always speak his mind when scolding you—actually, at 16 or 17, the principal was a mischievous kid too. Mischievous kids write novels, while good kids aim for positions. Good kids are considerate, and mischievous kids are fun. Your novels are so interesting to me, and if you make a living from this, it seems you’ll have quite a foundation.
The principal has a few pieces of advice after reading your books:
First, don’t think you’re better than anyone else. There are plenty of people in the world who write better than you. Everyone holds the pearl of the divine snake, and everyone carries the jade of Jingshan. No matter whether you become writers or not, you must always maintain a sense of reverence for all kinds of people in the world. Both being overly successful and being prematurely mature are equally pitiful. The principal saw a hint of arrogance in some of your books; please don’t be so foolish.
Second, don’t be too harsh. The people you dislike in the world also have their own histories and reasons for their personalities. Similarly, no matter whether you become writers or not, you must always maintain a sense of forgiveness for all kinds of people in the world. Even though you’re a mischievous kid, you’re using the force of your personality and the spirit of tolerance to contribute bricks and mortar to the treasure trove of national emotions; you’re also doing your part for the progress of human civilization.
Third, keep writing. The 21st century will be an era where everyone can write about themselves. When you have more experiences and wisdom, you’ll have second and third Self-Portraying Youth books. And when you also become an early-gray-haired person like the principal, there will be Self-Portraying Middle Age and Self-Portraying Old Age. You’ll realize that being called a writer isn’t a great happiness, but being able to roam and create in the realm of imagination is truly a happiness.
Enough said. If I say more, I might really become a principal. Stand at attention! Dismissed!
1999.7.10
Spring is bound to bring that kind of atmosphere—subtle, ethereal, and faint. The air of summer is boundless like the sea. In this moving season, Jiang Xiaoliang, Meng Meng, Mu Er, Ding Yang, A Ting, and the other kids lived and grew up just like any others. Perhaps the sun shone on the kids, making them weak, dizzy, and confused, but perhaps in the sun, the kids grew stronger, their eyes suddenly bright, healthy, joyful, and dancing freely. Every acquaintance should be grateful, and every child should be cared for. This is our story, the story of youth transitioning from spring to summer.
Afterword: When it came time to write the afterword, I couldn’t write it. I just left it hanging, reading and browsing online every day, too careless to write. Day by day, the sun grew brighter, and I realized that if I didn’t write, I’d have no excuse left. I’ve had dreams of writing prefaces and postscripts since a very young age—of wise people speaking without writing, or of the author’s beautiful companions adding a touch of elegance to the foreword or afterword, with a fleeting glance, capturing all the charm. Clarified, it’s just a mischievous kid, but after thinking about it for a long time, I didn’t dare to design myself as someone who poured their heart into their work. After staring at it for a long time, I had a long dream, and in a blink of an eye, twenty winters passed.
The most recent time I had this dream, I was at Peking University. On April 26th of this year, Beijing changed from sunny to a soulful drizzle. That night at 8 PM, I left Beijing by train, but I went to find Teacher Cao early and ended up visiting the Weiming Lake, sitting by the Meishi Stele to think about how to write the afterword. The wind blew through the sky, the pines and willows swayed, and thoughts of the afterword faded as I was completely captivated by the scenery of Yan Yuan. The courtyard of the fifth building of Peking University was full of lush grass, and the wife had passed away, making it so heart-wrenchingly tender. Ding Ding said he was my best friend, and this person was a student at Peking University, dressed in fine clothes, smiling gently. At the time, he was working outside Peking University, looking sharp. After leaving Peking University, I went to a cybercafe and wrote a long email to leave for Ding Ding, hoping he’d take me to the train. I could see him right back, but it happened to be the day the CIH virus broke out, the system crashed, and the email was lost. Countless people around the world were affected, and I never mentioned it again.
I put my heart into writing the afterword, even deducing that I wrote novels just so I could write afterwords. At this moment, I couldn’t help but laugh at the sky, and the truth was revealed, making me shocked. I made excuses: "It’s not, it’s not, I still really love writing novels!" I love ancient note novels and foreign books, and I’m endlessly fascinated by a dash after the name "Dedicated to Countess So-and-So."
There are too many people I want to thank. My parents’ nurturing is ordinary, but ordinary, repeated day by day, is heavier than Mount Tai. I’ve known the editors of China and Foreign Youth for seven or eight years and have always called them by their first names. When I was young, I was too ashamed to say "teacher," but later, I became too casual, though in reality, I truly felt grateful for their recognition. Teacher Cao Wenxuan gave me wise guidance, and I’m deeply grateful. I thank my teachers and classmates from kindergarten, elementary school, middle school, high school, and university, my friends, who gave me these good days. I especially want to thank Zhao Meng and Li Tianshu and other teachers at Beijing Children’s Publishing House. I was originally a lazy kid, but it was their seriousness and care that allowed me to write so many words.
I want to thank the people who have been lenient with my stubbornness. There are times when I act on my own without paying attention to others or to reason. I know this isn’t right, but I still let it happen, as long as my life is free and I’m not guilty of it in my heart. Everyone has been very good to me, not holding it against me, and being tolerant toward me. In fact, it’s because of everyone that I am who I am.
I should mention the friends I met online as Zixia. Since I was a child, I’ve never changed my name whether sitting or standing, not even daring to take a pen name. Even if I did something wrong or said something foolish, as long as I did it, I took responsibility. But when I started writing as Zixia online, I did it with great joy, and it was inseparable from the kindness and care of all of you! Broadly speaking, thank the heavens and earth, the elegant and talented people, the prosperous world, every acquaintance.
It’s a shame I can’t write a long, flowing afterword of over 10,000 words, ending with "My heart aches as I write this, and I don’t know what to say." I bow and greet everyone! May you still enjoy my books. Best friends, don’t forget that friendship is eternal!
May 21, 1999