A Reading of Yu Qiuwen

Author: Yu Qiu
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-01-01
Features: Up until last month, there were a hundred books bearing my name but published without my authorization. Among them, fifty-eight retained their original titles and contents, while the remaining forty-two were "anthologies" compiled by someone unknown. The proportion of "anthologies" has clearly increased, as last year, when the Writer's Publishing House printed a photographic edition of "Evidence of Piracy," only one-third of the books were "anthologies." In these "anthologies," many articles were not written by me, and in a few of them, although my name was printed, not a single article was actually written by me. It seems they have grown quite adept at this, as for a while, they forcefully imposed a stack of articles written decades ago by others under my name. This time, however, they have been truly generous, as most of the articles included in my "anthologies" were penned by the organizers themselves. Even readers with a basic understanding of literature would be taken aback and burst into laughter upon realizing that these figures who dominate the literary scene are not capable of everything. True creation is not easy, and the moment one picks up a pen, it becomes evident. It is certain that a person's writing is a natural of their life, embedded with something akin to genes. Regardless of the content or the passage of time, it does not alter the deep-seated code. It is said that the case of whether "And Quiet Flows the Don" was written by Sholokhov was finally resolved by computers capturing the hidden patterns in the text. I hope such technology could be widely adopted in China earlier, to create some trouble for the many audacious plagiarists and scapegoaters.
On my bookshelf, there is a Ming Dynasty literary work by Zhang Dai titled "Night Boat." This is a book that many scholars have spent their lives searching for but could never find. It was recently printed based on a manuscript preserved in Ningbo's Tianyi Pavilion. The book is thick, with a prominent spine, and stands out strikingly on the shelf. When literary friends visit my humble home, they often mistake it for a newly published novel. The title of this Ming Dynasty encyclopedia is truly fascinating—even I pause and let my gaze linger on it, as if the sound of oars rocking in the water echoes in my ears. The "Night Boat" has long been a symbol of arduous and long journeys in the water towns of southern China. My hometown is surrounded by mountains and is quite isolated, yet a river quietly flows through it. Every night, I can hear the rhythmic tapping from the riverbank—it is the arrival of the night boat. The boatman, upon reaching the shore, taps the boat's side with a wooden stick, calling out to the travelers preparing to set off. The mountain villagers grow accustomed to this sound every night, but eventually, perhaps because their lives have become unbearable, or because a wave of fantasy suddenly stirs in their simple minds, the tapping becomes incredibly alluring.
I do not know when they had a slightly more abundant dinner, but they had packed their meager belongings early and sat together under flickering oil lamps, waiting for the tapping sound. When the tapping finally began, their young sons, already slumbering in disheveled beds, were gently patted on the head by their rough-hewn fathers, who wiped away tears with their fists before quickly stepping outside. Their disheveled wives, carrying bundles, followed behind in silence. Few mountain villagers return from their journeys. Some wives, unable to endure the hardship, threw themselves into the river on the shore where their husbands embarked, clutching their children. Such tragedies usually occur in the dark, with the pale moonlight briefly illuminating the ripples on the water before everything fades away.
Before long, the night boat would return, still tapping, slowly passing by. Occasionally, some fortunate news would arrive. An old postman traveling from afar, carrying a letter with a money order, would appear in the village. Then, the wooden gate of that family's home would be crossed by countless pairs of muddy feet within days. At night, the tapping of the night boat grew louder, and many mountain villagers began to lose sleep. A few money orders brought a private school to the village. Lucky children started studying under a visiting scholar, reading aloud with great enthusiasm. Sometimes, the children in the private school would be woken by the tapping sound, turning over and listening intently. The sound was so similar to the wooden fish beaten in the broken temple at the mountain's slope, a sound their grandmothers longed to hear.
II. A man who took a night boat to Shanghai to seek his fortune suddenly became wealthy. He returned to his hometown to rebuild his estate, digging a moat around it and building a small bridge to secure the entrance. On the eastern side of the estate, by the river, he constructed a dedicated boat dock, where the night boat would stop every night. Their family had frequent exchanges of people and goods, so the night boat was given a refined cabin. Often, people would descend the smooth stone steps, while several servants carried enough provisions for half a month. Sometimes, the servants would also carry bundles of books, a rare sight in the village. The mountain villagers would daydream about the idyllic life in the cabin—well-fed, reading books in bed.