A Decade of Wind and Rain in Human Relationships: 60 Years of the Association. Collectors' Edition

Author: Editorial Board of Wen Wei Po Forum/Origin: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: From nearly 100,000 published articles, "Sea-selected" more than 200 exquisite masterpieces. On the occasion of the 60th anniversary of its founding, Wen Wei Po's supplement "Forum" meticulously edited two anthologies—"Treasure Edition" Sixty Years of Wind and Rain: Human Emotions and "Youth Edition" You Need to Love Your Loneliness—published by Wen Wei Press. The "Treasure Edition" Sixty Years of Wind and Rain: Human Emotions emphasizes the old-fashioned, mellow charm of "Forum," with contributions from "established" writers such as Mao Dun, Tian Han, Wu Han, Huang Chang, Ke Ling, Yu Pingbo, Lao She, and Shen Congwen. In the summer of 1946, "Forum" was born at a critical juncture of history's turning tide, since then it has been deeply connected with the intellectual and literary circles, responding in kind, seeking common ground, and sharing joys and sorrows with numerous authors and readers, enduring the hardships together. Over the past six decades, the changes in social dynamics, the span of time, and the twists and turns have been unparalleled in the history of supplements. This nearly 600,000-word book selects the essence of creative works from generations of writers and artists, serving as both history and literary beauty, embodying the human emotions of a full six decades. Fortunately, I found Xiao Shi. That summer was exceptionally hot, and I survived on bread and cool drinking water for lunch; only after the sun set did I escape the oppressive heat of my secluded small apartment, taking a breath and walking the less-traveled paths to his home for what we called a "proper meal." Xiao Shi was a mischievous student, often asking questions in class, which sometimes left the teachers flustered. But this time, in the midst of hardship, he had become so quiet and reserved. He neither asked why I hadn't gone inland, nor inquired about my mission in Shanghai, nor why I didn't live in the temple lane, nor did he ask where I was staying now. Suddenly, I had found him again, and suddenly, I was eating dinner at his home every night. Yet it felt completely ordinary, as if it had always been this way, without any suddenness. The woman who prepared the meals was an elderly friend of Xiao Shi's, and we shared a proper, freshly cooked meal together, along with soup. —That old lady never prepared soup or dishes for herself at noon; it was too extravagant. —There, I felt a sense of security. Until one day, I accidentally missed this "dinner," and the next time I visited, I saw the relief on their faces as their anxiety dissipated, only then did I realize how they understood my insecurity. The old lady, holding a hoe, greeted me with, "Oh, Mr. Zheng, if you don't come to eat next time, do call to let us know! We're still treating you as if you're here." Yet Xiao Shi didn't even say that. So I had to find something to say, after dinner, talking about woodcuts, Yuanqu, Beiwen, and the philosophy of Laozi—anything to fill the silence. Listening to myself, it almost felt like I was giving a lecture on literary history, a bit absurd. Then we went for a walk. Sometimes with the plump girl of the subletter, sometimes pulling Miss L from the back building, we all went out to "cool off" with hearts at ease. Xiao Shi liked the Wei-Jin style, so he called it "walking freely." Gradually, it became a daily routine, until the crisp sound of bare feet tapping on the pavement faded, and the people cooling off by the back door had retreated indoors, our enthusiasm for "walking freely" remained undiminished. Autumn evenings were better than summer ones. The twilight draped the sky like a light veil, the hazy mist dissipated in the cool breeze. As night fell, the sky seemed brighter, clear and high, with a radiant, crystal-clear moon embedded in it. Truly, it was a soul-cleansing experience, forgetting pursuit, evasion, terror, and anger, elevating one's thoughts beyond the nation and the world. As we walked, we talked about the human spirit and the fate of humanity, debating whether the beauty of the moon lay in its fullness or its crescent shape, whether it was lightly veiled or boundless in its emptiness. Xiao Shi's home faced Xujiahui Road and overlooked a river. The land south of the river was mostly open fields and farmland, with no buildings obstructing the sky, making it even more expansive. We walked along the riverbank from Dapu Bridge, downward and downward, treating a mound of earth as a city wall and a dark building as a fortress from a fairy tale, listening to whether the river was flowing. As we grew slightly weary, we leaned against the trunk of a fallen tree by the river. No one spoke. But a gust of wind swept in, carrying the stench of the polluted river, making us stand up. The river was unbearable by day; "Night only conceals it, but reality is still reality—it cannot turn decay into magic." Xiao Shi sighed. Feeling a bit cold, I reached for my coat, which was lying on the tree trunk, to put on. "Ah!" I exclaimed, "There are caterpillars!" Two caterpillars had clung to my coat. I quickly shook them off, and everyone fanned themselves, their skin prickling as if insects were crawling. "Don't be so sensitive. Listen, the cricket is chirping!" "No, that's a katydid." "Over there, that must be a bronze pipe lady." "What bronze pipe lady? There's no such name in entomology." In truth, none of us had studied entomology. Eagerly, we debated, shaking off the unease about the caterpillars. "Listen, there are more over there," "There are more over there." Listening along, suddenly a child's voice called, "Here!" It was a child in pajamas, holding a small bamboo cage, one ponytail tied with red thread, the other loose, probably having woken up to the lively chirping and gotten out of bed. "Don't move, let me catch it," he said. In the bushes near the iron fence, a man was trying to catch them, looking quite unskilled. He struck matches one by one. The sounds of autumn insects were everywhere, but catching them seemed to be here and there. The child was afraid of the iron fence pricking him but eager to catch them, calling incessantly. Xiao Shi also plunged into the bushes. A cyclist passed by and stopped, setting down his bike, taking off the acetylene lamp from it, and joining in the chase. This man was an expert, and after a while, he said, "No, like this, you hold the light, we'll catch them." The old man, obediently, took the lamp and illuminated it perfectly. Sure enough, soon the cyclist caught one. Everyone emerged, and the child jumped for joy. The cyclist, holding the cricket, felt flustered by everyone's admiration and shyly asked, "For whom? For whom?" The old man handed it to Xiao Shi, saying, "First to him, he won't catch it." The child also said, "To you, we can still catch more." Xiao Shi, embarrassed by the warm generosity and gifts, quickly stepped aside, saying, "There, I didn't want it in the first place—I was just helping you catch." Then, realizing he couldn't catch either, he changed his tune, "I was just joining in the fun." We also said, "Don't be so formal, put it in the cage. See if it jumps away." The child then happily and gratefully took it. The old man and the cyclist plunged back into the bushes. Xiao Shi walked along, laughing and muttering, "I'm not a child, why would they give it to me!" L said, "They think you're younger than that child. What's there to be embarrassed about?" So Xiao Shi argued, "Can you even tell if someone's blushing under moonlight?" In truth, we were all intoxicated by the warmth of kindness. We walked far away, and as we turned back, we could still see the flashing lights of the cyclists' acetylene lamps in the bushes. P3-5