1980 My Literary Era.

Chapter 534 I give you my life

November in the north is early winter. If the weather is sunny and windless, it will be very warm.

It's a pity that today is a cloudy day, and the north wind blows fiercely, piercing into people's necklines and cuffs. After standing outside for a long time, the cotton coat on your body is useless.

In Xijiang Village, Baqiao District, Xi'an, an old man stood on the beach of the Bahe River, with a cigarette in his mouth, watching the withered grass in the embankment being blown by the wind from west to east.

He looked up at the sky again, and when he got up early, the radio said that there was snow today, and he held it back for half an afternoon, but it still didn't fall.

Every day, it's never accurate!
"Old Cheng!"

Hearing a voice from afar, Cheng Zhongshi looked up, and there were two figures waving at him not far away, and Cheng Zhongshi trotted excitedly.

Lin Weimin and He Qizhi approached, and Cheng Zhongshi felt at ease when he looked at them, "Come on, come in quickly! It's really windy today!"

A few people talked and laughed and entered Cheng Zhongshi's old house, which was no different from when they came a few years ago. Cheng Zhongshi's wife poured them a bowl of tea.

He Qizhi joked: "Old Cheng, I think your mental state is not bad!"

After many writers finish writing a work that exhausts their painstaking efforts, it must be like a serious illness, not only the spirit, but also the body is hollowed out.

Cheng Zhongshi wrote this novel for six full years, and the hard work and energy he put in can be imagined.

Cheng Zhongshi waved his hand and said, "It's been a few days. When I just finished writing, I felt that my eyes went dark, my brain went blank, and I fell into a state of unconsciousness for a long time."

At this time, several days have passed since the novel was finished, and Cheng Zhongshi has slowly withdrawn from the world of creation.

After chatting for a while, Cheng Zhongshi took out a novel manuscript.

Manuscript paper has a standard format, and Cheng Zhong uses the most commonly used 500-frame manuscript paper in the editorial department of "Contemporary".

Just looking at the thickness of the manuscript, He Qizhi was taken aback.

"Old Cheng, you wrote a big tome!"

Lin Weimin said with a smile: "Six years of hard work, I'm sorry if I don't write a tome!"

Cheng Zhongshi handed over the manuscript to Lin Weimin. Thousands of pages of manuscript paper were heavy in his hands, and the edges of the manuscript paper had been worn down in the years of practice.

It is full of Cheng Zhongshi's six years of sleepless nights and exhausting thoughts.

Lin Weimin couldn't wait to read the manuscript, while Cheng Zhongshi and He Qizhi were talking on the sidelines.

"What Bai Jiaxuan later thought of as heroic was that he had married seven women in his life..."

After an unknown amount of time, Cheng Zhongshi's voice came from beside my ear.

Lin Weimin suddenly pulled out from the book and raised his head, "It's noon, there's nothing to eat at home, let me give you noodles."

"it is good."

It is Cheng Zhongshi's habit to entertain guests with boiled noodles.

Cheng Zhongshi's wife was busy for a long time, and brought several bowls of noodles, each with two poached eggs and chopped green onion.

Bald with noodles, He Qizhi asked Lin Weimin: "Weimin, what do you think of the novel?"

Cheng Zhongshi also stopped his hands when he heard the words, chewing the noodles slowly, staring at Lin Weimin.

"I just read the beginning." Lin Weimin threw a clove of garlic into his mouth, "However, there should be no mistake in the extraordinary response to this beginning."

Lin Weimin's praise made Cheng Zhongshi's mouth grin. He didn't care about eating, and told Lin Weimin about the difficulties in the writing process.

"White Deer Plain" is a heavy epic, and the preparatory work for writing this novel took more than two years.

Since participating in the "Contemporary" pen meeting in the summer of 83, Cheng Zhongshi has been running around in the suburban counties around Xi'an to do social surveys, consult county annals, party history, literature and history materials, and study various books about the history of Guanzhong.

This matter sounds very simple, but only those who have experienced it know the hardships and hardships.

Cheng Zhongshi knew that his novel would not be finished in "Short Assault". The plan he set for himself at the beginning was three years, and he hoped that he could finish this big job calmly within three years.

Unfortunately, he still underestimated the difficulty of this matter.

As he consulted more and more materials and thought more and more deeply, he found that there was not enough time at all. He gave himself three years of creative time and almost didn't even have enough time to consult materials.

"I really didn't expect that the preparation time would be so long. I originally planned to finish it in three years, but it seems that it has been almost three years and I haven't even started it.

My temperament is timid and flamboyant, just like a peasant woman steaming steamed buns, remember to lift the lid of the pot before they are cooked.

Seeing that there is not enough time, I am inevitably anxious.

Later, I could only tell myself that it didn’t matter, anyway, it was just a headrest, at worst, I would write this novel in my life, and I fought him to the end. "

When Cheng Zhongshi said this, Lin Weimin and He Qizhi couldn't help laughing, "Old Cheng, your determination is really big enough!"

"I'm forced there, there is no way!" Cheng Zhongshi said, and then continued what he said just now, "Fortunately, my draft went smoothly beyond expectations. I started writing in 86, and the draft of more than 40 words at the end of last year Just done, much faster than I thought.

I have been tinkering with it for nearly a year now. These three years are probably the year with the largest amount of writing since my professional creation, and also the year with the highest amount of daily work.

This year's Spring Festival can be more peaceful! "

After Cheng Zhongshi said these words, the furrows on his face seemed to be relaxed, and he let go of the huge burden in his heart, and he said: "I have already thought about it, if this novel can't be published, I won't write a book in the future. I tried my best to write such a thing, if I can't publish it, it means that I really have no talent in this matter, and I can't eat this bowl of rice! I will raise chickens in the future!"

Lin Weimin said: "I haven't finished the manuscript yet, so I can't tell you whether it can be published, but you have to believe in your efforts over the years."

Cheng Zhongshi explained: "That's not what I meant. Don't feel pressured to read the manuscript. It's because my novel is a bit 'old'. Although I have high hopes for it, you are the ones who read it... "

The Chinese in the 80s have been hungry for many years, their eyes are green, and they read novels hungrily, not only to read emotions and resonance, but also to read new ideas, new concepts, new forms, and new techniques.

When Lu Yao's "The Ordinary World" was sent to the editorial department, many colleagues felt "slow" and "long-winded" at the first time after reading it. Cheng Zhongshi and Lu Yao are both from Shaanxi, and they both created it with their hometown as the background. Cheng Zhongshi is afraid that readers who read this book will think it is outdated.

Lin Weimin smiled and said: "Don't think about these useless things, it will be the 90s soon, and it will be the era of pragmatism in the future. The most important thing is that the novel is good-looking!"

His consolation reassured Cheng Zhongshi a little.

They chatted for several hours at Cheng Zhongshi's house. Lin Weimin and He Qizhi had to catch the train in the afternoon, and Cheng Zhongshi sent them outside the village.

Lin Weimin at the edge of the Bahe River said to Cheng Zhongshi: "Okay, old Cheng, don't send it off, the weather is so cold, let's go back!"

"It's okay. I didn't pick you up when I came here. I always have to drop you off once. I'll take you to the station. It's still far away!" Cheng Zhongshi said stubbornly.

Xijiang Village is located on the outskirts of Xi'an, and there is only one bus from the city to the suburbs to get here. The terminal is located in front of a military academy, which is nearly three to four kilometers away from Xijiang Village.

The few people chatted and walked for nearly an hour before arriving at the station. It just so happened that the last bus of the day was about to leave.

Lin Weimin and He Qizhi were about to buy tickets to get on the train, when Cheng Zhongshi called Lin Weimin.

Lin Weimin looked back at him, Cheng Zhongshi nodded, and held Lin Weimin with his thick hands with bruised veins, with a scorching light in his eyes, and said in a heavy tone: "Weimin, this novel... together with me My life is in your hands!"

The simple language reveals an entrustment that is as heavy as Mount Tai. Hearing these words, Lin Weimin's eyes ached, and he felt that the manuscripts in the bag weighed more than a thousand ounces.

"Don't worry!" Lin Weimin said solemnly.

The dignified atmosphere lasted for a while, Cheng Zhongshi let go of his hand, "Get in the car!"

Lin Weimin and the two waved at him, turned around and got into the car.

After the car left, Cheng Zhongshi's figure was still standing in the wind, and the sky was still so cloudy that it looked like it was going to snow.

Back in XA City, it was already dark.

Lin Weimin and He Qizhi stayed in the guest house, and after dinner, He Qizhi and Lin Weimin discussed the itinerary for the next few days.

"Tomorrow, I'll go back to Yanjing first, and I'll leave it to you to visit the author!"

He Qizhi looked at Lin Weimin in shock.

You are really a dog!
Lin Weimin explained: "Then what, it's too dangerous to wander outside with the manuscript!"

The dry and pale explanation made He Qizhi look at Lin Weimin with a bit of contempt in his eyes, "You dragged me out, and now you want to go back alone?"

"You heard what Old Cheng said. This manuscript is more important than his life. I'm also afraid of it."

With Cheng Zhongshi involved, He Qizhi's mood became a little smoother, but he still couldn't help complaining a few words about Lin Weimin's unkindness.

"Okay, okay, go back and treat you to Dong Lai Shun!"

Lin Weimin's words made He Qizhi shut up.

The leaders are still very caring!

"Bring me the manuscript first!" He Qizhi said again.

"You can't finish watching this night, it's so heart-scratching, why bother?"

"My pleasure!"

Old comrade, you have a really stubborn temper!
Lin Weimin gave him the manuscript.

Early the next morning, He Qizhi's eyes were red, and he was reluctant to part when returning the manuscript.

"White Deer Plain" is a tome, even if He Qizhi doesn't sleep all night, he can't finish it.

"How about you leave later?"

Lin Weimin ignored He Qizhi's suggestion and took back the manuscript without mercy.

After breakfast, the two split up. Lin Weimin boarded the train back to Yanjing, while He Qizhi started his free trip in SX province.

After tossing back to Yanjing, there was just a light snowfall on the street, the car rolled over, and the road was dirty.

Lin Weimin took a car back to the Guowen Society first, entered the editorial department in the back building, took out the manuscript of "White Deer Plain", and solemnly handed it over to his colleagues.

"This manuscript is so beautiful, don't lose it, or Old Cheng will have to fight for me!"

Colleagues couldn't wait to take over the manuscript, and didn't take Lin Weimin's entrustment to heart at all.

Everyone is curious about the works of Cheng Zhongshi who has been sharpening his sword for six years.

(End of this chapter)