A Decade of Wind and Rain in Human Relationships (Sixty Years of the Pen Association · Treasure Edition)

Author: Editorial Board of Wen Wei Po Writers' Association
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: From nearly 100,000 published articles, "Pen Association" selected over 200 exquisite pieces, meticulously edited two anthologies—“Treasure Edition” Sixty Years of Wind and Rain: Human Emotions and “Youth Edition” You Must Love Your Loneliness—by Wen Wei Press on the occasion of its 60th anniversary. The "Treasure Edition" emphasizes the classic, mellow charm of the "Pen Association," featuring works by renowned authors such as Mao Dun, Tian Han, Wu Han, Huang Chang, Ke Ling, Yu Pingbo, Lao She, and Shen Congwen. In the summer of 1946, "Pen Association" was born amidst the turbulent turning point of history, since then it has been closely linked with the intellectual and literary circles, responding in kind and seeking common ground, sharing joys and sorrows with numerous authors and readers, enduring hardships together, and has now walked for six decades. The magnitude of societal changes, the span of time, and the twists and turns have been unparalleled in the history of periodicals. 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 wind and rain of 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 stifling heat of my secluded small apartment, taking a breath and walking the paths to his house for a "proper meal" in our parlance. Xiao Shi was a mischievous student, often asking questions in class, which sometimes left the teachers flustered. But when they met in times 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 house every night, yet it felt utterly ordinary, as if it had always been this way. The lady who helped with the cooking was an elderly friend of Xiao Shi’s, and we shared a proper, freshly cooked meal together, along with soup. —That lady never prepared soup or vegetables for herself at noon; it was too extravagant. —There, I felt a sense of security. It wasn’t until one day I happened to miss the "dinner" that I saw their faces release anxiety the next day, only then did I realize how they understood my insecurity. The lady, holding a spade, greeted me with, "Oh, Mr. Zheng, if you don’t come for dinner next time, do call to let us know! We’ve grown so accustomed to you." Yet Xiao Shi didn’t even say that. So I had to find something to say, after dinner, talking about woodcuts, Yuanqu, Beiwén, and the philosophy of Laozi, rambling on like I was teaching a literature class—rather absurd. Then we went for a stroll. Sometimes with the plump girl of the sub-landlord, sometimes pulling Miss L from the back building, we went out to "cool off" with hearts at ease. Xiao Shi liked the style of the Wei and Jin dynasties, calling it "xingsàn" (wandering). 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, yet our enthusiasm for xingsàn remained undiminished. Autumn evenings were better than summer ones. The twilight draped the sky like sheer gauze, layer by layer, the hazy mist dissipated in the cool breeze. As night fell, the sky seemed brighter, clear and high,ing with a crystal-clear moon, truly cleansing the soul. It wasn’t just forgetting pursuit, evasion, terror, or anger, but elevating one’s thoughts beyond the nation and the world. We walked, talked about the essence of life and the fate of humanity, debating whether the beauty of the moon lay in its fullness or its absence, whether it was lightly veiled by clouds or boundless and cloudless. Xiao Shi’s residence faced Xujiayi Road and 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, down and down, treating a mound of earth as a wall and a dark building as a fortress in a fairy tale, listening to whether the river was flowing. As we grew tired, we leaned against the trunk of a fallen tree by the river. No one spoke. But a breeze came, carrying the stench of the polluted river, making us stand up. The river was unbearable by day, but at night, it was only a cover-up; reality was still reality, and it couldn’t turn decay into magic. Xiao Shi sighed. It grew a bit chilly, so I reached for my coat, placed 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 fussed, their skin prickling as if insects were crawling. "Don’t be so sensitive! Listen, the cricket is calling!" "No, that’s the katydid." "Over there, that must be the 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 cricket calls and gotten up. "Don’t move, let me catch it," a man in the bushes near the wire fence was trying to catch them, looking quite clueless, striking matches one by one. The sounds of autumn insects were everywhere, but to catch them seemed to be here and there. The child feared the fence pricks but was eager to catch them, calling incessantly. Xiao Shi also plunged into the bushes. A cyclist passed by and stopped, locking his bike, taking down the acetylene lamp from the handlebars, and joined 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 original man obediently took the lamp, and they lit it in perfect harmony. 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 man who had been catching them handed it to Xiao Shi, saying, "First to him, he won’t catch it." The child also said, "To you, we can catch more." Xiao Shi, embarrassed by the warm generosity, quickly moved away, saying, "There, I didn’t want it anyway, I was just helping." Then, realizing he couldn’t catch either, he said, "I was just making the scene." 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 man and the cyclist plunged back into the bushes. Xiao Shi walked along, laughing, muttering, "I’m not a child, why did 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 all drank in the warmth of kindness and were lost in bliss. We walked far, turned back, and still saw the flashing lights of the cyclists’ acetylene lamps in the bushes. P3-5