Zhu Ziqing's Prose Collection

Author: Zhu Ziqing / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2006-07-01
Features: Zhu Ziqing's early prose can be divided into two major categories: realistic and argumentative essays, and narrative and lyrical essays. The former includes works such as The Price of Life—Seven Cents, Civilization in a Steamboat, The White Man—God’s Pride, Ahe, In Memoriam of Wei Jiesan, and Travel Notes. These directly draw from real-life experiences, employing a mixed narrative and argumentative style to critique the dark society, making them renowned masterpieces. The latter, such as The Shadow of My Father, Qiang Sheng Deng Ying Li de Qinhuai River, Green, Moonlight Over the Lotus Pond, Hazy Moon, Hazy Birds, Rolling Peach Blossoms, and White Water Cliff, are even more enchanting works that blend scenery and emotion, filled with poetic charm and widely celebrated, representing the peak of his prose art. Zhu Ziqing’s prose writing, from elegant and enduring to simple and rich, and then to radical and profound, bears a distinct mark of the era, showcasing his unique artistic style and aesthetic pursuits. Yu Dafu once said in Introduction to Modern Prose in the New Literature Series: "Although Zhu Ziqing was a poet, his prose was still full of poetry." This can be considered a very insightful evaluation of Zhu Ziqing’s prose art. Last night, at the Western and Eastern Music, Dance, and Song Gala, the three clear songs of Western and Eastern Musical Instruments and Singing truly captivated my heart. It was as if it were a late spring morning. The light drizzle silently fell on my face, bringing a sense of moisture and lightness. The fresh breeze stirred my clothes, like a lover’s breath blowing on my hand. I stood on a white alum stone alley, after the light rain, as if coated with a thin layer of cream; walking on it felt even more slippery and delightful. This was in the garden. The flowers were still dreaming. The drizzle secretly washed away their dust, and their sweet, soft glow shone forth. Beneath the washed-off brilliance, I could see the tranquil red, desolate purple, and the smiling white and green they had hidden in the sunlight. What once appeared splendid before me now bore a dull hue—was it sorrowing over the fading of spring’s beauty? Or was it feeling the weariness of spring? Perhaps it was also due to the gentle rain that the garden lost its rich fragrance. The gentle east wind only carried strands of hungry-like floral scents, mixed with the damp scent of grass and the taste of earth. Beyond the garden, the fields and marshes occasionally sent over the fresh steam of newly planted rice, the vigorous wheat, and the shaded willow trees. Although not sweet, these scents strongly stimulated my sense of smell, giving me a pleasant sense of fatigue. Look! All of these are part of the song: I listened with my ears, eyes, nose, tongue, body, and heart; I also sang with my heart. I was finally overcome by a healthy numbness, and thus, I was possessed by the song. Afterward, only the song remained.