You should love your loneliness -- Pen Club's 60th Anniversary Youth Edition

Author: Wen Hui
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: From nearly 100,000 published articles, "The Pen Club" of Wen Wei Po has carefully selected over 200 exquisite pieces to compile two anthologies in celebration of its 60th anniversary—"The Treasure Edition" A Decade of Wind and Emotion and "The Youth Edition" You Should Love Your Loneliness, both published by Wen Wei Po. This book, You Should Love Your Loneliness, is meticulously arranged in terms of selection, authors, and thematic categories, highlighting meaningful themes such as positivity, exploration, and reflection, a deep yearning and gratitude for friendship and family, as well as a profound respect and pursuit of art and truth. Readers can also sense the youthful spirit of "The Pen Club" that remains connected to the pulse of society across different historical periods. The book opens with Wang Meng's famous 1950s essay Youth Forever and closes with Niuan's simple yet philosophical The Call of My Grandmother, blending abundant passion with approachability and endurance. Sixty years of "The Pen Club" is not just a history of vicissitudes; nearly every outstanding artist and writer of each era has left their youthful on this fertile ground. Passion and tranquility, pursuit and suffering, freedom and loneliness, courage and melancholy, joyous songs and fierce anger—years have passed, but those youthful songs have never faded away. Let us listen closely.
From nearly 100,000 published articles, "The Pen Club" of Wen Wei Po has carefully selected over 200 exquisite pieces to compile two anthologies in celebration of its 60th anniversary—"The Treasure Edition" A Decade of Wind and Emotion and "The Youth Edition" You Should Love Your Loneliness, both published by Wen Wei Po. This book, You Should Love Your Loneliness, is meticulously arranged in terms of selection, authors, and thematic categories, highlighting meaningful themes such as positivity, exploration, and reflection, a deep yearning and gratitude for friendship and family, as well as a profound respect and pursuit of art and truth. Readers can also sense the youthful spirit of "The Pen Club" that remains connected to the pulse of society across different historical periods. The book opens with Wang Meng's famous 1950s essay Youth Forever and closes with Niuan's simple yet philosophical The Call of My Grandmother, blending abundant passion with approachability and endurance. Sixty years of "The Pen Club" is not just a history of vicissitudes; nearly every outstanding artist and writer of each era has left their youthful on this fertile ground. Passion and tranquility, pursuit and suffering, freedom and loneliness, courage and melancholy, joyous songs and fierce anger—years have passed, but those youthful songs have never faded away. Let us listen closely.
Yang Qiyun arrived at the Sun family's doorstep. The small door was pitch black, with couplets inscribed on it: "Splendor of nature, brilliance of talent; outstanding people in a blessed land." The calligraphy had faded. The doorbell was attached to the mouth of a carved beast. Sun's father was a capitalist from the Jianxin Construction Factory. During the "Five Anti-Corruption Campaign," he was arrested for resisting inspections and engaging in severe anti-social behavior but was recently released. Yang Qiyun arrived at her home, feeling somewhat nervous. She knocked lightly on the door, and it creaked open. An elderly woman poked her head out; her short stature was comical, her hair styled in a shiny braid, and her waist wrapped in a white-and-gray apron. "Who are you looking for?" she asked. "I'm here to see Sun." The little old lady's eyes darted around as she size-d him up, then she smiled broadly, speaking with a standard Beijing accent: "Oh, you're looking for her? She's not feeling well these days, probably resting." "I'm Sun's classmate, here to visit her illness. If she's sleeping, I can wait." "Then please come in." The old lady led Yang Qiyun through the archway into a spacious siheyuan (a traditional Beijing courtyard with rooms on all four sides). She pointed to a small passageway in the northwest corner and said, "Go through this passage to a small back courtyard. The second young mistress lives in the east room on the north side." Yang Qiyun didn't understand what a "second young mistress" was, but later she realized it was absurd.
Yang Qiyun arrived at the back courtyard and climbed the steps to the north room, calling out, "Sun!" The white silk curtains on the window of the east room were drawn back, revealing Sun's face. Yang Qiyun rushed into the room without waiting for an invitation. She took Sun's hand and sat on the bedside. The bed was near the window, facing south, and Sun was half sitting up, her bedding rumpled. Yang Qiyun picked up the corner of the bedding that had fallen to the floor and glanced around the room. In the northeast corner stood a neglected bookshelf, with books and newspapers piled haphazardly. Beside the bookshelf was a small wicker table with a bamboo pen holder and a porcelain vase, but there were no pens or flowers. Opposite the bookshelf were toiletries. On the wall hung bamboo paintings by Zheng Banqiao and a crude painting—not much better than a calendar—depicting a woman swinging on a swing, along with a color photograph of the Three Ponds at West Lake. A small table stood beside Sun's bed, holding medicine bottles, a thermos, and a water bowl. Yang Qiyun, with her keen sense of smell, detected a strange, dissonant scent—medicine, soap, old paper, old paintings, and Sun's bedding. She sniffed and said, "Let's open the window above, the air isn't good." Sun hesitated, "My upper respiratory tract..." Yang Qiyun looked outside. "It's not windy today, and the sun is out. Opening the window will be good for you."
As Yang Qiyun climbed onto the windowsill to open the small window above, she noticed a book on the sill—The Ghost's Love by Xu Jie. She came down, picked up the book, and flipped through it skeptically. Sun lowered her head as if she had done something wrong. "Heavens, what are you reading?" "I'm sick, reading other books is too tiring," Sun explained defensively. Yang Qiyun said angrily, "The Ghost's Love—look at the title, it's such a trashy book, 'ghost' and 'love,' and you're tired of reading other books but not this one?" Sun had no response and rubbed the corner of the bedding, looking pitiful. Yang Qiyun asked about her condition. She said, "Nothing serious, I just get headaches. It’s not a new problem—I get terrible headaches whenever I’m upset. My brain is broken." "Broken?" "I'm getting dumber and dumber, my memory and comprehension are terrible. When I lie in bed, sometimes my head buzzes, and it hurts like needles. I'm scared." Sun picked up her pillow and placed it on her lap, stroking it tenderly. "Don't scare yourself," Yang Qiyun said, concerned and anxious. "I’ve met you before, I know you’re not stupid, and your brain isn’t broken. You just love to paint yourself in gray. Maybe it’s because you’re suffocated in here that you think this way." Sun looked at Yang Qiyun softly, moved closer, and shook her head. "I'm a little scared, afraid I won’t catch up on my studies or fail the exams. If I fail the makeup exam, I’ll have to repeat the grade." "You really are!" Yang Qiyun said, displeased. "You’re perfectly healthy, but you think, ‘I might catch a cold and get sick, I might get sick and become disabled, I might become disabled and die.’ Isn’t that just stirring up trouble? All the classmates in our class are working hard to improve their studies, none of us are discouraged. The class is like a boiling pot, but why do you think so negatively?"
Footsteps interrupted Yang Qiyun's passionate words. A tall, thin, slightly hunched man entered the room gracefully. Seeing Yang Qiyun, he wanted to retreat but gave a slight nod instead. "This is my brother," Sun introduced. Yang Qiyun stood up, and he quickly said, "Please sit." Then, using fingers yellowed by cigarettes, he shook Yang Qiyun’s hand lightly. Yang Qiyun noticed his slightly covered, curly long hair and his wide, wrinkled forehead, a frail kind of beauty. He introduced himself, "Su Jun." Yang Qiyun also said her name. He looked at Yang Qiyun as if he wanted to say something, but after a moment of silence, he turned toward the bookshelf. Suddenly, he coughed violently and bent over. Yang Qiyun remembered Sun mentioning this brother—he was the son of Sun’s father’s second wife, several years older than Sun. Sun loved him but was also afraid of him. As a child, he studied classical Chinese and traditional painting with his maternal grandfather, who was a xiucai (a scholar in the late Qing dynasty). Later, he studied Chinese literature at university but nearly committed suicide after a breakup and then contracted severe tuberculosis, staying at home for recovery since 1948.
Su Jun put down the book he was flipping and walked over, taking out several apples—giving the largest to Yang Qiyun, the middle one to Sun, and the smallest to himself. Yang Qiyun didn’t use his knife but wiped the apple with a handkerchief and took a happy bite. "You’re Yang Qiyun?" "Yes, no mistake." Yang Qiyun smiled. She often used bold and innocent attitudes to break barriers with strangers. Su Jun smiled slightly. "That’s great. I often hear my sister talk about how you’ve helped her a lot. You’re her good friend, right? Thank you."
P3-5