80s Soul History

Author: Tianya Culture
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-10-01
Features: This book is a carefully crafted soul-stirring elixir by representatives of the post-80s generation. All authors were born in the 1980s and are youthful writers. The book is divided into two major sections: self-narratives and interviews. In the self-narratives, these prose-style cold narratives reveal a novel-like depth, discussing their growth, youth, and the stages they have always been on. For example, Gong Xiaobing analyzes his past, with concise and seasoned writing that exudes a calmness—neither reflection nor regret, just looking back at those youthful years, that touch of recklessness. He grows and walks in this way. Their self-narratives or interviews, to a large extent, resemble the negatives of their souls, showcasing the language and dreams of the post-80s generation. The texture is so crisp and captivating. How could such memories not be worth writing and reading? The heart may ache, but it feels all worthwhile. I think if a person lives according to their own will, they should be happy. The same goes for a group. That is the post-80s.
—Xiao Fan
We search for ourselves in the crowd, trying to roar at the times, yet we die prematurely on the way. The avant-garde protest and the radical resistance have all been integrated and pacified by the mainstream. Where is the soul of the post-80s?
—Tian He
All of this will pass. All of this has passed: in the mire of modern cities. Looking back at yesterday’s pure recklessness and melancholy, it feels as if it were another world.
—Wang Xiaotian
I started writing novels at the age of eighteen and have been doing so for six years now, at the age of twenty-three. I’ve written over a million words. Recently, I’ve had readers say I’ve changed. I want to say, I haven’t changed. My job has changed. My hairstyle has changed. The city I live in has changed. My girlfriend has changed. But one thing hasn’t changed, and you all know what it is. It’s called ideals.
—Jiang Feng
Our youth was like a roaring train on the tracks, rushing forward without regard for anything. When we reach the other side, we’ll realize how brilliant our youth was.
—Wen Quanjie
We are all children who have run through time. When we start to remember, we realize that all of this is already far away from us. We are just a group of children who stubbornly sing through time for dreams.
—Whispering Sparks
Wang Xiaotian, born in 1980, is from Shaanxi. He graduated from Central South University’s mineral engineering program in 2003 and worked as a miner before becoming a journalist, editor, human resources specialist, and book planner. Now, he lives in Changsha as the executive editor of the We, We series and has published a novel titled Cherry.
Starlight Wanderer 1
I was born in that winter, so I was destined to endure more coldness. I remember a philosopher once said, "Life is like this, and it can no longer be any other way." This sentence, to me, is like a prophecy in the hard life, soothing yet tempting my soul. It prevents me from complaining about misfortune in adversity and from arrogance in prosperity. Nothing in this world can completely crush a person—hardship, sorrow, despair, or temptation. None of them can. The oneness of humanity ensures that every "I" possesses unparalleled superiority. I chose this sentence, framed it, and hung it in my room. I just wanted to remind myself that life has only one path, and the meaning of success lies in possessing and upholding what you believe in.
My mother said when I was born, snow fell from the sky, and icicles hung from the eaves for over a foot long, not melting for a whole month. That winter was the starting point of my life. It was like a cold, beautiful flower inserted at the beginning of my existence, blessing me while cursing me, giving me time while urging me to move on. I grew up on the vast, thick yellow soil of Shaanxi. A tiny village, like a mole on the map, became my first stage. I grew up quickly, watching my childhood self, a crawling infant in the village’s straw, transition through ignorant innocence, spirited youth, and finally into a reserved and sturdy young man. In 1999, I left Shaanxi and came to Changsha, over a thousand miles away from home. It was my first long journey. In the short span of my life, it was undoubtedly a brilliant chapter. It pushed me into a new life with all the timidity and curiosity of a village child.
My poor hometown’s farmers said, "Look, this life is a shining road." My farmer father also said, "Your dreams have begun. Go." From then on, I started to wander. I’ve always thought that leaving my hometown was like wandering. Some say, what is home? It’s the place where we first set off. My home is a small village in the Guanzhong Plain of Shaanxi, a place that remained simple despite my parents’ lifelong efforts. Back then, I boarded a train in Weinan, which traveled through Zhengzhou, Wuhan, and Yueyang. My tears fell the entire way, and the friends traveling with me mocked me, saying, "What’s a big man crying about?" But I couldn’t stop. The unfamiliar scenes of the foreign land flashed before my eyes, quickly and vaguely. For me, it might be my lifelong fate—to always be tossed about on trains. This is the state of wandering, the psychological state of being alone in a foreign land, starting the moment I stepped onto the train.
In fact, it was exactly like that. The city is the city’s people’s city, and I was just an onlooker. From the very beginning of university, I clearly felt this. Fortunately, I studied a relatively unpopular mineral engineering major, so most of my classmates, even in my department, were