Chapter 135 Someone is coming
Chapter 135 Someone is coming (8000 words)
The silver car body is like a sharp arrow, cutting through the morning mist floating on the G112 highway. The simulated sound of the motor is low and pleasant, and the speed of 160 km/h blurs the light and background. Is fast beautiful? Fast is beautiful.
Prince Xu held the steering wheel with his hands, and Shostakovich's Waltz No. 2 was playing in the car. The spiraling melody made him feel as if he was stepping on a long stairway to heaven when he climbed on the elevated road. It was grand, magnificent, and tragic. He couldn't help but raise his arms and sway with the melody.
Waves of sunlight flowed on the car body, reflecting fiery red lines. When the music reached the third bar of the second part, human voices were heard from the car stereo. The discordant part was inserted into the harmonious melody, which made Wang Zixu feel annoyed.
"The Nobel Prize for Literature this year has been announced, and the winner is the Norwegian playwright John Fosser. I'm afraid many of our readers in China are not very familiar with this person, right?"
"Yes. John Fosser was born in Haugesund on the west coast of Norway. He is good at writing in New Norwegian, also known as Nynorsk. He has a wide range of writing genres, including drama, novels, essays, poetry, and children's literature."
"It seems that this is a very 'unpopular' writer. Not only does he live in an unpopular place, but he is also not well-known. When I heard this name, my first reaction was, who is he?"
"That's right. For Chinese readers, compared to the writers that everyone talks about, such as Haruki Murakami, the name of this Norwegian playwright is very unfamiliar. In fact, in recent years, except for Bob Dylan, most of the winners of the Nobel Prize in Literature are relatively 'unpopular'..."
Wang Zixu showed disdain on his face: "Nonsense. Can John Fosser be considered an unpopular writer? Even before he won the Nobel Prize, he was already one of the best playwrights alive, right?"
The audio was filled with rustling sounds, casting a hazy color on the guest's voice: "Teacher, I actually don't really understand why people say that Haruki Murakami is a runner-up for the Nobel Prize? Is he nominated every time?"
"In fact, there is no such thing as 'nomination' for the Nobel Prize. There are no candidates either. Murakami Haruki is said to be a 'runner-up' probably because every year he appears on the so-called 'Nobel Prize author odds list' that is circulated among the people."
"Oh, I know that. It seems that several writers from our country have also been on this odds list, including Canxue, Yan Lianke, Yu Hua, Yan Zishan..."
"Yes, but just treat it as entertainment and don't take it too seriously. Even JK Rowling, who wrote Harry Potter, is on that list, so you can see how valuable that so-called odds list is."
Wang Zixu laughed again and said, "Who said that? Modiano in 14, Bob Dylan in 16, Handke in 19, and Annie Elno last year were all high on the odds list and later won awards. The list is not always accurate, but it is not far off. It is much more valuable than yours."
His voice naturally could not reach the other side, and the voice on the speaker continued:
"Also, although Haruki Murakami is a favorite among young Chinese writers, he will never win the Nobel Prize in Literature. This is because he is too popular. The taste of the Nobel Prize judges is more 'serious'. They will think that writers who are too popular will lose their seriousness, so he basically has no chance of winning the Nobel Prize..."
"Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense!" Wang Zixu said, "Marquez was already a multi-million-dollar best-selling author before he won the award, right? He has only a superficial understanding and talks nonsense. He reads too little and talks too much."
Then he suddenly fell silent, because he remembered that he was alone in the car. With only one person, his voice could not reach anywhere.
In the four months before today, his life was extremely regular: he would get up in the morning and write a 4,000-word literary script, take care of some daily chores in the afternoon, start writing at six in the evening, and continue writing until twelve at night, without fail.
The company's business was gradually getting on track, and there were no more matters that needed his presence. He specifically asked Zuo Ziliang and Ye Lan to refrain from disturbing him. With his deliberate avoidance, interpersonal communication became increasingly simple, and he became increasingly lonely.
He carefully hid himself in that house, facing the computer screen alone, as if this small corner was all that was left of the world.
He imagined that his house was located on a blue-gray reef, with the black ocean and white waves outside the door. When the wind suddenly blew, it blew through the walls, blew past his temples, and whistled towards the empty place.
As a result, he felt cold all over and insecure, and psychologically forced himself to write as quickly as possible. At the same time, he also developed the habit of talking to himself.
In the last month, his mental state became increasingly worrying. At the worst time, he had to write 12,000 words every day. When he fell on the bed, his speech was fragmented and his words were incoherent. He picked up the phone and asked the person on the other end to drive a high-speed rotating machine to transport liquid to China, which left the water delivery person confused.
Wang Zixu is not the first writer to push himself to the point of mental problems.
According to statistics, there are three writers in the world who prefer to write naked: Hugo, Hemingway, and Chen Qingluo.
Hugo was naked because he had a serious procrastination problem. In order to suppress his playboy personality, he asked the servants to hide his clothes so that he could not go out. Hemingway did not want to be bound by such vulgar things as clothes, so he used this behavior to break free from the shackles and chains of worldly views and became the freest creator on earth.
Chen Qingluo's reason was similar to the latter. When she was fully immersed in the work and entered a state of ecstasy, her clothes disappeared one by one without her noticing. She was completely closed when she was creating, with the door locked, and only Ning Chunyan witnessed this magical process.
Writers all have various quirks to a certain extent. Although each has his own reasons, they all point to a common fact about creation: writing is a torturous thing that can make people's behavior become distorted and difficult for ordinary people to understand.
There is a huge amount of pain hidden in writing. If you don’t write it down, this pain will affect your mind and make you unable to sleep or eat; if you write it down, this pain will be projected onto your body and make it impossible for you to sleep or eat.
Wang Zixu endured this kind of torture, but fortunately it was not in vain. After the long late summer, Wang Zixu produced a novel of 50 words.
The length of this novel is very difficult to submit to the Feishi·Sui Han essay contest, to a magazine, or to find a publisher to publish it. It is too long. So he is currently in the painful process of revising the first draft, with the goal of reducing the 50 words to less than 30 words.
The interview on the speaker came to an end, and the host said:
"So, what other outstanding writers can you recommend to domestic audiences?"
"Now the younger generation of writers have grown up, not to mention Chen Qingluo, but also Xiao Mengyin, Xiaochi, and Gu Zao, all of whom are worthy of attention."
"Oh, I've heard of Xiao Mengyin. She is really a woman with a unique personality. I watched some of her interviews recently, and her words were very philosophical."
"Yes. She is very unique. Her works are just like her, full of strange and special feeling, which makes people unable to stop reading."
Hearing the familiar name, Wang Zixu felt a little bitter in his heart, but he quickly wiped away the emotion in his heart and returned to calm.
He hasn't seen Chen Qingluo since that last fleeting glimpse.
Xie Cong posted a video of Chen Qingluo presenting an award to Wang Zixu in the class group, which caused a sensation in the class group. People first recognized Chen Qingluo, who was dressed up, and marveled at her beauty. Then they found out that the person being awarded was Wang Zixu. At once, countless messages came in like snowflakes.
Wang Zixu peeked into the class group for a long time with secret joy, but did not see Chen Qingluo show up. Finally, he was disappointed to find that she had left the group at some point.
Because of this incident, he couldn't guess Chen Qingluo's intentions and didn't dare to contact her.
He tried countless times to write a letter to Chen Qingluo. He used his lifelong writing skills to write various openings in different styles, some were passionate, some were deep and calm, but without exception, they all became waste paper in the end and were patched up by him and stuffed into Wen Ai's script.
It wasn't that he didn't write well. His scripts during that period received unanimous praise from speech therapists and clients (Ye Lan commented that he became more and more amazing as he got older). It was that he didn't have the courage to send them out.
He wondered if his love story would have a heroic ending like those in the novels written by Marquez - many years later, when he was extremely old, he suddenly picked up his luggage, walked many kilometers, came to Chen Qingluo's house, knocked on the door, and said: I heard that your husband died.
Wang Zixu pushed these messy thoughts out of his mind and repeated another name in a normal tone:
"Xiao Mengyin."
Wang Zixu effortlessly recalled all the rumors he had heard about this woman.
He knew that she was the winner of the last Fei Shi Sui Han Literature Award and had read her new book. Through her works, he learned that she was born in the 90s like him and was even two years younger than him.
Whenever he thought of this, Wang Zixu felt worried.
The Nobel Prize in Literature does tend not to award the prize to writers from the same region in a short period of time. For example, the South American authors Gabriel García Márquez and Michelle Vargas Llosa were writers from almost the same period, but after Gabriel García Márquez won the prize, Vargas Llosa received the honor 30 years later.
In other words, if Wang Zixu wants to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, the biggest competitor for him is actually from China, who is about 30 years younger than him. If a Chinese author of the same age as him wins the prize, it is likely to ruin his chances by more than 20 or 30 times.
Most of the popular writers on the current odds list are outside this range. For those who are within this range, he is confident that he can surpass them in his lifetime. Xiao Mengyin's appearance made him feel some pressure. Not much, but it is there.
However, the one who put him under the most pressure was indeed Chen Qingluo.
"Hey, Lao Wang, are you here yet?"
The car stereo amplified Lin Feng's voice on the phone and sent it to his ears. Wang Zixu said, "Not yet. Are you there yet?"
Lin Feng said, "I'm almost there. You left earlier than me, why haven't you arrived yet?"
Wang Zixu said: "Nan Da is far away from Jiang Da."
"Oh yeah, yes."
Today is the day for offline review of materials for the postgraduate examination. Wang Zixu is on his way to Nanjing University to submit his various documents.
During this period, Lin Feng also planned to take the examination for a working postgraduate degree, but he was afraid of the score line of Nanjing University and chose Jiangnan University.
"Brother Wang, do you really want to take the full-time postgraduate exam? Have you thought it through? Are you sure you don't want to take the civil service exam in the future?"
Wang Zixu was silent for a while. "I can't think of a reason to study while working if you have no intention of pursuing a career in government. But you, haven't you always dreamed of studying at Nanjing University? Why don't you apply to Nanjing University?"
Lin Feng smiled sheepishly: "Like I said, I urgently need a diploma for promotion. Nanjing University is indeed my dream, but people can't live on dreams."
So people can’t live on dreams?
Lin Feng added, “By the way, there is a writers’ exchange meeting at Nanyang University today. Many celebrities are there. I heard Yan Zishan is there too.”
"is it?"
"Can you help me get a photo from Yan Zishan? I was so excited last time that I forgot to ask him for it."
Wang Zixu had no intention of joining in the fun, but after hearing Lin Feng's earnest words, he agreed.
Speaking of which, Yan Zishan asked him to "go to the East China Sea". He has already arrived in the East China Sea, and I wonder what Yan Zishan will say next?
Finally he arrived at the NTU campus. This was his second time here, but he found it much busier than last time. Vehicles from all over the country lined up in front of the gate. A security guard came over and waved at him:
"No need to go in, the parking lot is full."
Wang Zixu stuck his head out of the window: "Is it full?"
"It's full. Turn around."
Wang Zixu had no choice but to drive the car to the side of the road.
Donghai is an exquisite place. Wang Zixu didn't know whether parking on the roadside was allowed or not, but there was already a row of cars parked on the side of the road, so he followed suit.
As soon as he got off the car, three girls ran over and pointed at his car.
"It's Hoshimiya!"
"Yes, it's Hoshimi."
The three girls looked and dressed differently. One had an ordinary face but very long eyelashes; one wore a polka dot T-shirt and had a big chest; one had her hair draped over her shoulders and carefully dyed and permed into a bold wavy shape.
They looked like students standing on the roadside handing out flyers while working to earn money for their studies, but what they were holding were not flyers.
The prince pretended to have the information he needed for registration and walked towards the school. However, three girls caught up with him from behind and greeted him:
"Excuse me, are you from Nanjing University?"
Wang Zixu didn't know how to answer this question, so he could only shake his head: "Not yet."
The three girls chattered, "We are sophomores in the Chinese Department and are currently doing a research project. Could you spare some time to help us do a questionnaire survey?"
"can."
The girl with long eyelashes took out a piece of manuscript paper and put it on her notebook: "What is your educational background?"
"Undergraduate."
"Are you an undergraduate student or a graduate?" The girl with long eyelashes raised her eyes.
Wang Zixu said: "I have graduated for many years."
"So why are you going to Nanjing University now..." asked the girl with long eyelashes.
"Graduate student registration." Wang Zixu raised the information in his hand.
The three girls discussed quietly with each other: "Yes, today is indeed the day for graduate student registration."
The busty girl in the polka dot dress raised her head and asked with a strange expression, "Excuse me, how old are you?"
Wang Zixu did not shy away from saying, "Thirty."
The three girls looked at each other and then said, "Oh, a postgraduate student."
“Full-time.”
"You're thirty years old and still applying for a graduate program? And a full-time graduate program?" The girl's eyes widened.
Wang Zixu said: "Jin Yong was still a graduate student at the age of 80."
"That's true." The busty girl in polka dot clothes said sincerely, "What I mean is that the uncle's perseverance is commendable."
Wang Zixu felt a little short of breath: "I am only seven, eight, or nine years older than you. I am not an uncle, am I?"
The busty girl in polka-dot clothes stuck out her tongue and said, "But 30 feels like a very distant age." Wang Zixu thought viciously in his heart, in another five years, you will also start to panic, the God of Time is fair.
"This is not the point, please don't change the subject." The girl with long eyelashes stopped the topic from wandering off. "The theme of our survey is the general public's enthusiasm for the Nobel Prize in Literature. We would like to ask, did you know that the Nobel Prize in Literature was recently announced?"
"I know too much."
Before Wang Zixu recovered from the setback, the girl with long eyelashes smiled and nodded, then asked:
"Then do you know the winner of this year's Nobel Prize in Literature?"
"Johan Fosser, Norwegian writer."
The three girls' eyes lit up, and they exchanged surprised looks with each other, praising Wang Zixu highly: "This is the first one who can correctly answer the name and nationality today."
"Oh."
Wang Zixu now thought that perhaps he could not be considered an ordinary citizen.
Will ordinary people have 49 opportunities to win the Nobel Prize in Literature?
However, in the secular evaluation system, he, a 30-year-old unemployed vagrant who came to take the non-working postgraduate entrance examination, is a level lower than the general public, just like the great harvest to the Yellow Crane Tower.
"What do you know about his work?"
Wang Zixu said: "I have read his collection "Someone is Coming", which contains several plays. I have not read other works such as essays and poems. I have not read many."
This answer was beyond the expectations of the three girls. They looked at each other and fell silent.
Finally, the girl in polka dot clothes said bluntly: "The award was just presented yesterday, and you read it today. How come it's so fast? Do you live next to the bookstore?"
"John Fosser didn't come into being just because he was awarded the Nobel Prize. I had read his book before the Nobel Prize was announced this year."
The wavy-haired girl opened her mouth slightly and stared at him with her apricot-shaped eyes full of suspicion, as if to say sincerely: Uncle, it's out of date to pick up girls by pretending to be a hipster now.
Wang Zixu couldn't help but start to defend himself: "He is already a well-known Norwegian playwright and a world-class playwright. It's not surprising to have read his books, right?"
He was not angry about the distrust of several girls. When he bought John Fosser's works, he found that the sales volume of this book on the Internet was 10, and he was quite surprised: Are there 10 people in China who also want to pursue the Nobel Prize in Literature?
Apart from that, he could think of no other reason why anyone should read the Norwegian playwright's minimalist script.
The girl in polka dot clothes waved her hand, as if she wanted to quickly skip this topic: "Next question."
The girl with long eyelashes suddenly flipped through a few pages of manuscript paper and asked, "Do you have any opinion on the result of this year's Nobel Prize in Literature?"
Wang Zixu stopped and said, "Why should I have any objection?"
The girl with long eyelashes was startled by his tone: "I mean, if you were asked to choose, who would you choose to win this award?"
Many names flashed through Wang Zixu's mind, and finally he said, "It's John Fother. He deserves it."
After a pause, he continued: "If I can choose, I nominate Thomas Pynchon, Milan Kundera, Don DeLillo..."
The girl with long eyelashes shouted: "Wait a minute, wait a minute... please speak slower."
Wang Zixu taught her how to write those words: "Thomas Pynchon, Pin is the Pin of sketch, Qin is the Qin of admiration... What's going on? How come a student of the Chinese Department doesn't even know Thomas Pynchon?"
The girl with long eyelashes was scolded so much that her eyes sparkled. Wang Zixu didn't care about that and continued:
"If I could bring the dead back to life to receive the prize, I would also give the prize to Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Kafka, Calvino, Nabokov, Philip Roth... Oh, yes, there was no Nobel Prize when Dostoyevsky died, so I can only ask Mr. Nobel to die sooner...
"Didn't you hear clearly? Okay, I'll speak slower. Thomas Pynchon, Don DeLillo, and Milan Kundera are the ones who need to be awarded as soon as possible. If they are not awarded soon, they may die, and it will be too late. Philip Roth is miserable enough. He died in 18 at the age of 85. The above-mentioned people are about the same age as him. If they die, it will be a pity for the Nobel Prize..."
The more Wang Zixu chattered, the more eerily quiet the scene became. The three girls looked at each other, and it was obvious that this barrage of words made them quite uneasy.
The girl in the polka dot clothes raised her hand to interrupt him: "Let me ask, what major do you want to apply for as a graduate student?"
“Department of Chinese.”
The three girls were relieved, and the pent-up anger in their chests was swept away: "It turned out to be my senior brother."
Seeing the girls celebrating, Wang Zixu finally realized that their strange silence just now was because his performance was beyond their expectations. The girls were shocked by his act of announcing the names of the dishes and felt quite jealous.
"Brother, are you from this school or are you taking the cross-examination from another school?"
"My undergraduate degree is from Beijing Institute of Technology."
“…Beijing Institute of Technology has a Chinese department?”
"I'm not a Chinese major. I studied engineering."
Looking at the expressions on the faces of the three girls, Wang Zixu said earnestly, "It's not that only students in the Chinese department read books, nor does it mean that students in the Chinese department read more books than others. You should let your major add wings to yourself, rather than let your major become a mold that solidifies you."
After he said this, he felt that there was something great in this sentence, but the listeners' reaction was not satisfactory. None of the three girls responded. Wang Zixu suddenly felt a little discouraged and wondered if his preaching just now sounded a little too fatherly.
This also reflects the changes in the mental outlook of students over the years. Today's students are more confident. If it was in the past, when Chen Qingluo said, "You haven't even read XX," Wang Zixu's reaction would only be to nod and say, "I am ignorant and guilty." After seeing Chen Qingluo off, he would go home and secretly stay up late to read.
But it won't be like that now. Wang Zixu unconsciously put on the same airs as Chen Qingluo did in the past, the same demeanor as when she lectured him back then: What? You don't even know Thomas Pynchon? A living legend, one of the greatest serious writers in America, author of Gravity's Rainbow, you don't even know this, and you dare to stay in the Chinese Department?
But the three girls remained indifferent, and Wang Zixu began to reflect on himself: Maybe not knowing Thomas Pynchon is not a sin.
But what finally broke through the prince's defense was the indifferent words of the wavy-haired girl: "Among the people you mentioned, I've only heard of Milan Kundera, but isn't he dead?"
The prince was stunned and said, "When did it happen?"
"It happened not long ago. It was all over the news. Didn't you know?"
Wang Zixu immediately started searching. He had been busy at home writing for the past few months and had not read the news at all. After searching for the news of "Milan Kundera's death", he held his head in his hands and stayed there for a long time.
Then he said in a lost voice: "Are you done asking questions?"
"Well, it's over."
Prince Xu said goodbye. As soon as he left, a heated discussion broke out among the three girls:
“Does he really understand or is he just bragging?”
"I don't know. I'm only a sophomore. Why are you asking me?"
"Iron literary youth... No, literary middle-aged. Literary middle-aged people."
"Ah, why are there so many weirdos in the Chinese department?"
"No wonder you can't remember it."
"Alas, I don't think we need to care so much. It's obvious that they love literature and come here with dreams in their hearts. There's no need to laugh at them, I think."
They did not have any opinion about Wang Zixu, they were just evaluating his weight and value with a critical eye. Then they found it difficult to fit this 30-year-old who drove a Xiaomi SU7 to Nanjing University to take the postgraduate entrance examination for the Chinese Department (and took the examination for a different major) into any existing social framework, so they felt confused.
Wang Zixu's confusion is a kind of life crisis: Milan Kundera is dead, and he ultimately failed to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Before that, Philip Roth was dead.
Soon, Thomas Pynchon will die, Don DeLillo will die, Seth Noteboom will die, Adonis will die, and the younger ones, maybe Haruki Murakami, will also be on the agenda.
They are not the only great writers who died before winning an award. Calvino did not win an award either. Who knew he would die so early?
Borges didn’t win the award either. Who can I turn to for justice?
Camus did win the prize, at the age of 44, and then he died at the age of 47. It was as if they had predicted that he would die young, so they gave him the prize in advance.
If Camus had not died and the Nobel Prize had been awarded to Calvino earlier, would history have changed?
If even those people couldn't get this award, can he really do it?
Wang Zixu raised his head and looked towards the new library of Nanjing University. The sun shone on the blue glass curtain wall, reflecting a dazzling light.
Will the world remember that he was here?
...He didn't know whether he would remember it or not, but in any case, he couldn't remember where Chongwen Building was.
Wang Zixu turned around, found the three girls, and asked quietly, "Do you know where Chongwen Building is?"
"Go straight ahead and turn left in front of the second row of houses..."
The three girls were quite enthusiastic. After a while of chattering, the girl with wavy hair said:
"Forget it, we'll take you there."
Wang Zixu was immediately flattered.
This is another difference between Wang Zixu's students then and now: today's students are more confident and more keen to meddle in other people's affairs than they were back then, so they just let some disputes go and deal with them separately.
Only then did Wang Zixu notice more specific parts of the three girls. For example, the girl with long eyelashes had a thicker makeup than the other two. The girl with polka-dot clothes had looser clothes, perhaps to cover her breasts. The girl with wavy hair had plump lips and her hair was highlighted.
In any case, girls of this age are always beautiful, no matter how they dress. If you have been here for a long time, you may not feel it. For example, when Wang Zixu was in school, he never thought about the appearance of the girls around him. But now that he has come here with a 30-year-old body, he suddenly discovered the beauty of a young and energetic body.
The young bodies led Wang Zixu through the path to the dormitory building. He saw a large group of people gathered on the lawn between the dormitory buildings. The girl with wavy hair suddenly fell in anger:
"Why are you still here?"
Wang Zixu pointed curiously: "What are you doing?"
"Confession? Can't you see it?"
Wang Zixu looked around and saw a sea of people gathered in the middle, not knowing what they were doing. Some were shouting, some were clamoring, and long-lost memories were awakened.
"We've been working on this for almost the whole morning! Why doesn't Du Kezhu come out? At least give him a word to make him give up on this idea."
The girl in polka-dot clothes sounded quite dissatisfied, as if she had something against the girl named "Du Kezhu".
"That's what I mean. If you agree or disagree, just say it. If you're stuck like this, you can't even walk."
The girl with long eyelashes blinked and said, "You can't blame Zhuzhu. It's not like she asked anyone to confess their love to her. She would be annoyed if someone confessed their love to her every other day."
"Then who allowed her to show off? She drove a Mercedes E-Class to school. Who doesn't know that her family is a rich second-generation?"
"Really? I heard that she is not a second-generation rich girl. She started her own business and earned all her money by herself."
"That's not right. Didn't she say she writes novels?"
The three girls looked at each other, and the girl with the wavy hair finally complained, "What Fengao Astronomy? One of you should give her a call and ask her to come down and deal with it."
Wang Zixu held out his watch and said it was getting late, so he said goodbye. Then he heard the girl with long eyelashes beside him say faintly, "No need to call, she's already down."
Then, Wang Zixu saw a green-haired figure floating in the crowd, and the crowd parted like Moses parting the sea.
After he saw the green-haired girl's face clearly, he burst into laughter. What Du Kezhu, what Feng Aotian.
Isn't this the innocent poet?
Then, the poet rushed towards Wang Zixu without stopping, as if he had already expected him to be here. Under the surprised gaze of the three girls, a hand clamped his arm like a steel clamp.
"Walk."
"Where are you going?" Wang Zixu was panicked.
"Anyway, go ahead." The poet lowered his head and didn't even look at him. "Besides, now you are no longer an innocent poet, but a poet of eternal guilt."
(End of this chapter)