Chapter 233 Only the Don River Knows

Chapter 233 Only the Don River Knows

Chapter 233 Only the Don River Knows
A rear projection was hung on the first floor, in the middle of the exhibition area, so that everyone could see it. The person carrying the camera took advantage of the most coquettish opportunity to expose Wang Zixu's big face to the public.

Xiao Mengyin cursed in her heart, this bunch of people always want to make big news.

Whenever there are signs of a quarrel, these news reporters are the first to come and add fuel to the fire. Once the fire starts, they put on a compassionate and worried attitude and call on everyone to calm down. It's really despicable.

But the audience really bought it, with expressions of gloating all over their faces. They smiled at the people next to them and praised, saying that this photographer really knows something.

Everyone present was an insider, and they all knew who was popular recently. On the surface, no one mentioned it, after all, everyone was respectable, and it would be degrading to mention things that offended others, but privately, many people even watched a lot of secondary creations.

The nature of human beings is jealousy. People who work in literature are not as calm as the public imagines. On the contrary, they are more jealous than ordinary people. The most jealous people in the world are not women, but writers.

Everyone tries their best on marketing, spending money, packaging, signing, interacting with readers... and then some guy comes in like a fool and becomes famous for no reason. If they say that others are not jealous, that would be a lie.

Therefore, they, who usually hate reporters, were not only not disgusted by the camera's performance this time, but also smiled knowingly.

Fight, fight. Their mentality is like that of the spectators who watched beheadings in the late Qing Dynasty. The more they fight, the more interesting the scene becomes.

The writers gathered in a circle and cast their eyes towards Wang Zixu. Although he had never spoken, he had become the focus, and this discussion was about to turn into an execution scene.

The goblet was empty, and its curved wall reflected the light from the crystal chandelier, covering the circular seat downstairs and distorting the seemingly regular circle into an ellipse.

An Younan on the second floor was playing with a cup in her hand. Her diamond-studded high heels had been taken off. One foot was rubbing against her calf, and her toenails looked bright red against her snow-white skin.

She lay on her arms, with her arms resting on the railing, staring at Wang Zixu on the screen, and said in a soft voice:

“Look, someone finally found the little fat sheep, and they even broadcast the slaughtering process live, how cruel.

"Little Fatty had a recording before, which was how he scared off the Big Bad Wolf. Now you are defenseless and have to face this group of lions. Can you survive with just those two kicks of yours?"

Duan Xiaosang was no longer around, and no one heard An Younan's mumbling. The question was left hanging in the air, and naturally no one answered it.

But Xiao Fei Yang can be said to be in a very stable mood at the moment.

It's not that Little Sheep didn't have the awareness of being Little Sheep. When Little Sheep kicked over the Shitong River, he knew that one day he would suffer this disaster.

As the saying goes, those who criticize others will be criticized in return, and those who carry sharp weapons should be prepared to be killed. Wang Zixu is not a middle school student, and he is not so hypocritical as to panic.

On the contrary, he felt that this counterattack came too late - he thought it should have come at the seminar, but he didn't expect Shi Tonghe to collapse at the first blow and had no strength to fight back at all, and it was not until today that the rain fell.

If lightning is going to come, let the storm come harder!

Zhuang Die continued with the previous topic:
“Why I attacked this colleague so angrily is that such a talented person like Sholokhov was almost ruined by groundless doubts.

"At that time, Sholokhov was only a 23-year-old young man. People generally thought that he was so young and so poor, how could he write such profound works?
"As if he wanted to prove himself, Sholokhov spent 14 years carefully crafting the novel Quiet Flows the Don. He wanted to use the sequel to respond to doubts and prove that he was not a ghostwriter.

"But even so, the accusations against him for ghostwriting never ceased. Even until his death, the injustice against him was not cleared.

“Literature is really bitter, too bitter. It is not like mathematics, where 1 is 1 and 2 is 2, nor is it like physics, where you can do experiments. It cannot prove itself, you can only approach it with your heart and let a kindred spirit listen to its meaning.

"Our masses still need guidance in aesthetic education. They have no ability to judge literature, and their opinions are based entirely on prejudice and hatred. Under inducement, they will act blindly and impulsively, which will ruin the environment for literary discussion.

“Since a certain colleague of mine became famous online, I have seen countless insults and curses against the Writers Association and senior writers. The senior writers were of high moral character and were unwilling to respond, and were unable to prove themselves, which allowed the shameless people to steal the traffic.

"In this age of entertainment to death, no one cares about the truth. This is a double tragedy for literature and the times."

Xiao Mengyin slowly turned her head and secretly glanced at Wang Zixu.

His face was expressionless and his eyes were empty, as if Zhuang Die was criticizing someone else instead of him. But she lowered her head and was immediately startled:
Wang Zixu's fist was clenched like a ball of tightly wrapped tape, with white and red patches, and his knuckles were jagged and protruding like rocks exposed on the sea surface. It seemed as if he was about to punch someone in the next second.

Sholokhov's "ghostwriting scandal" is a public case. Although no one mentions it now, it was a huge uproar back then and everyone knew about it.

Wang Zixu had read the works of all Nobel Prize winners and knew a lot about their lives, so he naturally knew about this matter.

In fact, Xiao's ghostwriting incident has not been conclusively concluded to this day. The Soviet Union even set up an investigation team to conduct a thorough investigation and finally concluded that he did not ghostwrite.

But this is of no avail, because people believe that the higher-ups are "protecting him."

In the four years from 1926 to 1933, Sholokhov received an average of 4 letters a year, cursing, accusing him. Solzhenitsyn, a fellow writer, even accused him of stealing the manuscript of another writer, Kryukov.

If we want to prove it, Sholokhov spent 1929 years from 1940 to 14 to complete the book, which is enough to prove that he was not a ghostwriter. But public opinion does not care about this.

Until the 70s, many people came out to "confirm" his crimes. Each story had a different story. In short, he must have been a ghostwriter. Even if he was not a ghostwriter, it must have been written by someone else.

Because Sholokhov was Stalin's "own man", a symbol of the Soviet literary world and a positive role model, under the influence of internal struggles, the Cold War and other current situations, everyone had their own opinions.

Thus, the pain of the times became Sholokhov's personal sorrow. Throughout his life, he was never cleared of the suspicion of being a ghostwriter.

The later he got to know Sholokhov, the more he realized that writers cannot prove themselves. He could not prove himself through writing. What guaranteed his status was the power in his hands and the support of the leaders.

Therefore, he became more and more greedy for power and became more and more radical in order to protect his privileges. His friend sighed: "Mikhail (Sholokhov) killed part of himself to prove the innocence of another part."

In short, this incident ruined him, and he never wrote another work of the same level as "Quiet Flows the Don".

It was not until 1999 that the original manuscript of And Quiet Flows the Don was found and kept in the attic of Sholokhov's relative's house. After identification, the handwriting was authentic and the age was confirmed, indicating that he did not have a ghostwriter. But he had been dead for 20 years at that time.

But even with such evidence, we can still question: Does the existence of the manuscript prove that there was no ghostwriter? Why didn't he take it out at the time? Why did the manuscript end up in the hands of a relative? Is it possible that it was forged by the Russians?

This shows that writers cannot prove themselves. Finally, as Sholokhov said, "Whether Quiet Flows the Don was written by me or not, only the Don steppes and the Don River know."

Zhuang Die compared Sholokhov to Shi Tonghe, and Wang Zixu to an accuser with ill-intentions, meaning simply that his questioning ruined an innocent writer.

This is where Wang Zixu got angry:

Aren't all the words you said mine?

Shi Tonghe used some connections to frame him, and two phone calls almost killed "Stone Fire";
It was he who gathered a group of people and plotted to put the final nail in the coffin and kill "Fire in the Stone" when it was still in its infancy.

If the prince hadn't been so stubborn that he would have smashed a wall, if he hadn't spent his life revising the book, if he hadn't been careful, and if he hadn't had so many good friends to help him...

If one had taken a wrong step at that time, "Fire in the Stone" would have really died.

Even now, he is still working hard to publish this book.

It was he who was framed, it was he who was slandered, he was oppressed by the power of speech, he was almost driven crazy, it was obviously him who was more like Sholokhov.

Not only did these people call a horse a zebra and confuse right and wrong, but now they even wanted to take away the name of his suffering!

For him, these people have works, fame, and connections. For him, an author who has to worry about publishing, they have everything. But he has nothing except writing and pain. They have already thrown mud on his works, and now they are so greedy that they even want to take his pain for themselves!
Bloodshot crawled up Wang Zixu's eyeballs, about to pierce the sclera.

A hand slapped him hard on the shoulder.

He was startled and looked back, only to see it was Sartre.

"If the gaze of others alienates you and makes you feel painful and unavoidable, then remember that the essence of existence is resistance." Sartre said, "People must still have chaos in themselves in order to give birth to a dancing star."

"Isn't this what Nietzsche said?" Wang Zixu asked.

Sartre smiled but didn't answer. The little prince appeared from the other side and said, "In short, fuck him."

Xiao Mengyin looked at Wang Zixu who was muttering to himself. She couldn't hear what he was saying and was a little worried about his mental state.

Zhuang Die passionately scolded the prince without naming him, and then changed the subject and started talking about the Nobel Prize in Literature again.

Wang Zixu was annoyed by the first part of the speech, and frowned at the latter part, which he felt was not very nutritious. But after he finished speaking, there was a long applause at the scene.

Wang Zixu knew that the applause was not for his later speech, but mainly for the content of the previous speech. They were cheering for scolding him.

The next speaker was Meng Xin. Wang Zixu didn't know what she was going to talk about, but Zhuang Die had just called on him, so it was natural for her to include Wang Zixu in her speech.

Moreover, the content of her speech surprised Wang Zixu.

This female poet, whose writing style is as stern as her personality, speaks in a way that is as concise and pungent as her poems, full of sharp sarcasm without revealing her edge, and heart-piercing words without being harsh, which makes people feel a little breathless.

She also didn't name anyone, but everyone could hear the hidden meaning in her words. Such words are always more hurtful when spoken by a beautiful woman. Some people looked at Wang Zixu with gloating eyes, watching his expression.

Next came the next one, and the next one... As if it was pre-arranged, everyone started talking about Wang Zixu's outrageous behavior.

Wang Zixu thought about it and understood: he is now the traffic leader. In other words, the traffic leader is a living target. There is no better way to establish your own personality than to criticize a traffic leader.

Chen Qingluo sat quietly on the sofa in the lounge with a magazine spread out on her legs.

The female receptionist came over, added some water to her glass, and said softly, "Mr. Gu will be here soon."

Chen Qingluo did not respond.

The female receptionist said, "There's a discussion going on outside right now. It's very lively. Do you want to go take a look?"

Chen Qingluo woke up as if from a dream.

"What theme?"

"It's about the Nobel Prize for Literature." The receptionist repeated the topic and added, "Many well-known writers participated."

Chen Qingluo immediately lowered her head: "Not interested."

She refused so decisively and skillfully that the receptionist felt very frustrated. So she stopped talking, walked back to her seat silently, and continued to stand.

……

The seating arrangement was circular and the speaking order was clockwise, so it was easy to tell who would be the next speaker. The audience became increasingly enthusiastic.

The speaker was approaching Wang Zixu like the hands of a clock, building up anticipation. When he walked one position in front of Wang Zixu, the anticipation had reached its peak.

Before I knew it, the area was already filled with people, a sea of ​​black. It felt like everyone in the entire hotel had come, but the scene remained unusually quiet.

Wang Zixu suddenly looked up and saw that the VIP seats on the second floor, which had been empty just now, were now full, and everyone was looking down at him.

He felt a lot of pressure.

"...Thank you. I'm done speaking." The last person finally finished and handed the microphone to Wang Zixu. Wang Zixu took it and it felt warm, not very comfortable.

He moved his hand down and gripped the cool part underneath.

"So, what exactly is the character of the literary knight?" Sartre asked. "Is he riding a horse and stabbing these people to death one by one with a lance?"

The little prince rolled his eyes at him and said, "This is the hero of Liangshan you are talking about."

The two started chatting.

"I was speaking metaphorically," Sartre said. "When I say lance, I mean the lance of literature."

"Literature has no guns," said the little prince. "What Zhuang Die said is partly true. Literature is like music. Only those who understand it can understand it. It is not a force that can be pointed at others and forced to obey."

Sartre said, "Then according to you, this game cannot be won."

"There is no such thing as winning in literature," the little prince said. "Sholokhov didn't win either. Anyone who wants to question him will do so all his life. He flipped the table at the seminar and scolded Shi Tonghe like that, but nothing happened to him."

“…Ahem.” For a moment, Wang Zixu’s mind went blank and he cleared his throat.

"Teacher Wang Zixu, it's your turn to speak," the host reminded.

"Just now, almost half of the people said that they were ashamed to be associated with a certain peer. I think everyone should be frank. The peer you are talking about is me, right?"

The scene erupted into laughter.

Chen Qingluo sat in the lounge, her eyelids slightly raised and then slowly lowered.

The receptionist couldn't stand it anymore, so she walked out in her high heels to the second floor to watch.

Wang Zixu said: "Someone told me that sincerity and kindness are the most valuable qualities of a writer. I have always believed this.

"I have always been a sincere person. I say what I mean. I saw someone with a look of contempt on her face. She seemed to be criticizing me in her heart, thinking that I was making excuses for myself.

"I'm sorry, that's not an excuse. I'm just stating a fact. Maybe she doesn't think that way, but I do. That's what I call sincerity.

"Everyone says they don't want to be associated with a certain peer, which is a good way to put it, and it's very eloquent. But I think this is not sincere. If you are sincere, you will directly name the person.

"I take your responsibility for what you have said. Now I will say something more sincere, so please take your responsibility:
“What I want to say is that you guys are terrible.

"At least in this discussion, under this topic, you are too unworthy to sit with me."

(End of this chapter)