Chapter 233 Only Don He knows
There is a rear projection hanging on the first floor, in the middle of the exhibition area, everyone can see it. The talented people carrying the camera took advantage of the most coquettish opportunity to reveal Wang Zixu's big face to the public.
Xiao Mengyin cursed in her heart, these people always want to make big news.
Whenever there is any sign of conflict, these news reporters rush to the fire as soon as possible. When the fire starts, they put on a compassionate and worried posture and call on everyone to calm down. Really too cheap.
But the audience really liked this, with expressions of gloating on their faces. They looked at each other and smiled at the people next to them, and praised, "This photographer knows a little bit."
Those present are all insiders, and everyone knows who is popular recently. On the surface, no one mentioned it. After all, everyone was decent enough to mention the price reduction. But privately, many people even watched the second creation.
The essential attribute of human beings is jealousy. Those who engage in literature are not as indifferent as the public imagines. On the contrary, those who engage in literature are more jealous than the average person. The most jealous people in the world are not women, but writers.
Everyone worked hard on marketing, spending money, packaging, signing, and interacting with readers... but a certain kid came in like a fool and became popular for no reason. If others are not jealous, it must be false.
Therefore, they who usually hate reporters not only did not dislike the performance of the camera this time, but also smiled understandingly.
Tear it apart. Their mentality is similar to that of spectators who watched beheadings in the late Qing Dynasty. The more intense it is, the more beautiful the scene will be.
The writers gathered in a circle all turned their attention to Wang Zixu. Although he never spoke, he has become the focus, and the discussion is about to turn into an execution scene.
The goblet is empty. The curved wall of the cup reflects the light from the crystal lamp, covering the ring seats downstairs, twisting the seemingly regular circle into an ellipse.
On the second floor, An Younan was playing with a cup in his hand. He had taken off his diamond-encrusted high heels and rubbed one foot up and down his calf. His toenails were bright red against the white skin.
She lay on her arms, with her arms on the railing, staring at Wang Zixu on the screen, and said in a soft voice:
"Look, someone finally discovered the little fat sheep, and they had to broadcast the slaughtering process live. How cruel."
"The little fat sheep had a recording before, so that it could scare away the big bad wolf. Now you are unarmed and encounter these lions. With your two kicks, can you survive? ”
Duan Xiaosang is no longer around. No one heard An Younan’s soliloquy. This question was left unanswered, and naturally no one answered it.
But it can be said that the little sheep is in a very stable mood.
It’s not that the little fat sheep doesn’t have the consciousness of being a little fat sheep. When the little sheep kicked over the rocks and crossed the river, he expected that one day he would suffer this calamity.
As the saying goes, those who spray others will always spray them, and those who are armed with sharp weapons should have the consciousness to be killed. Wang Zixu is not a middle-aged child, so he is not so pretentious that he panics.
On the contrary, he felt that the counterattack came too late - he thought it would have come at the seminar, but he didn't expect that Shi Tonghe collapsed in one blow and had no chance to fight back. It was not until today that a shower of rain fell.
If lightning is going to come, let the storm be more violent!
Zhuang Die continued the previous topic:
"Why I criticize this colleague so indignantly is because such a talented Sholokhov was almost destroyed by unwarranted doubts.
"Sholokhov was only a 23-year-old young man at the time. People generally felt that how could he write such a profound work when he was so young and so poor? Product?
“It seems that he wanted to prove himself. Sholokhov spent 14 years carefully crafting the novel "The Quiet Don". He wanted to use a sequel to respond to doubts and prove that he was not a ghostwriter.
"But even so, the accusations against him as a ghostwriter have not stopped. Until his death, the grievances on him were not cleared.
"Literature is really hard, too hard. 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 close friends listen to the meaning.
"Our masses still lack guidance in aesthetic education. They have no ability to judge literature, and their speech relies entirely on prejudice and hatred. Under inducement, they will act blindly and impulsively, which will ruin the literary discussion environment.
“Since a certain peer became popular on the Internet, I have seen countless insults and curses against the literary association and senior writers. The seniors were upright and unwilling to respond and could not prove themselves. Instead, shameless people stole traffic.
“In this era of entertainment to death, no one cares about the truth. It is really a double tragedy of literature and the times. ”
Xiao Mengyin slowly turned his head and looked at Wang Zixu secretly.
His face was expressionless and his eyes were empty, as if the person Zhuang Die was criticizing was not himself, but someone else. But when she lowered her head, she was immediately startled:
Wang Zixu’s fist was clenched like a ball of tightly wrapped tape, white and red, and the knuckles were rugged and protruding, like rocks exposed on the sea. It felt like 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 big deal back then and no one knew about it.
Wang Zixu has read all the works of Nobel Prize-winning authors and has learned a lot about their lives, so he naturally knows this.
In fact, there is no conclusive conclusion to this day about Xiao’s ghostwriting incident. For this matter, the Soviet Union also set up an investigation team to conduct a thorough investigation, and finally concluded that he did not ghostwrite.
But this will not help, because the people think that the superiors are "protecting him."
During the four years from 1926 to 1933, Sholokhov received an average of one thousand letters a year cursing, cursing, and accusing him. Solzhenitsyn, a fellow writer, even jumped out to accuse him of stealing the manuscript of another writer Kryukov.
As for proof, Sholokhov spent a full 14 years from 1929 to 1940 to complete this book, which is enough to prove that he was not a ghostwriter. But public opinion doesn't care about this.
Until the 1970s, there were many people who jumped out to "defeat" him. Each story was different. In short, he must be a ghostwriter. Even if he was not a ghostwriter, it was written by someone else.
Because Sholokhov was Stalin’s designated “one of his own” and a landmark figure in the Soviet literary world, a positive example. Under the intertwined influence of internal struggles, the Cold War and other current situations, everyone held their own opinions.
So, the pain of the times turned into Sholokhov’s personal sadness. Throughout his life, he was never cleared of the suspicion of being a "ghostwriter".
The later Sholokhov came, the more he realized that a writer cannot prove himself. He cannot prove himself through writing. What guarantees his status is the power in his hands and the support of leaders.
Therefore, he became more and more greedy for power, and in order to maintain his privileges, he became more and more radical. His friend sighed: "Mikhail (Sholokhov) killed one part of himself in order to prove the innocence of the other part."
In short, this storm destroyed him, and he never wrote a work of the same level as "The Quiet Don".
It was not until 1999 that the original manuscript of "Quiet Don" was found and kept in the attic of Sholokhov's relative's house. After identification, the handwriting was authentic and the age was determined, indicating that he did not ghostwrite it. But he had been dead for 20 years at that time.
But even if there is such evidence, we can still continue to question: Does the presence of a manuscript definitely prove that there is no ghostwriter? Why didn't he take it out then? Why did the manuscript end up with relatives? Is it possible that the Russians forged it?
This shows that the writer cannot prove himself. Finally, as Sholokhov said, "Only the grasslands and rivers of the Don know whether "Quiet Don" was written by me."
Zhuang Die compared Sholokhov to Shi Tonghe, and compared Wang Zixu to an accuser with bad intentions. The meaning was nothing more than that his doubts ruined an innocent writer.
This is the point of Wang Zixu’s anger:
Aren’t the words you said all my words?
It was Shi Tonghe who had some connections to punish him, and with two phone calls, "Fire in the Stone" almost died;
It was him who gathered a group of people, and when "Fire in the Stone" was still in its infancy, they plotted to put a final seal on it and slap it to death.
If the prince hadn’t been so stubborn that he smashed the southern wall, if he hadn’t spent his life revising the book, if he hadn’t been cautious and had many friends to help him...
If he had only made one wrong step at that time, "Fire in the Stone" would really have died.
Even now, he is still running for the publication of this book.
It was he who was framed, he was the one who spread the rumors, he was oppressed by the right to speak, driven to the point of going crazy, and it was obviously him who looked more like Sholokhov.
These people not only confuse right and wrong, but now they even want to take away the name of his pain!
For him, these people have works, fame, and connections. For him, an author who has to worry about even publishing, they simply have everything.
But he had nothing but writing and pain. They have poured dirty water on his works, and now they are so greedy that they even want to take his pain for themselves!
Bloodshot threads crawled up Wang Zixu’s eyeballs, almost piercing the sclera.
A hand slapped him hard on the shoulder.
He was startled, and when he looked back, he saw it was Sartre.
“If the gaze of others is alienating you, making you feel pain, and it is unavoidable, then remember that the essence of existence is resistance.” Sartre said, “Human beings 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 and did not answer, and the little prince appeared from the other side: "In short, fuck him."
Xiao Mengyin looked at the muttering Wang Zixu, unable to hear clearly what he said, and was a little worried about his mental state.
Zhuang Die impassionedly scolded the prince without naming him, then changed the subject and started talking about the Nobel Prize in Literature again.
Hearing the previous content annoyed Wang Zixu, but hearing the following content made him frown, feeling that it was not very nutritious. But after he finished speaking, the audience burst into lasting applause.
Wang Zixu knew that the applause was not for his subsequent speech, but mainly for the previous content. It was to applaud him for scolding him.
The next person to speak was Meng Xin. Zizixu didn't know what she was planning to talk about, but Zhuang Die had just clicked on him, and her speech naturally referred to Zizixu.
Moreover, the content of her speech surprised Wang Zixu.
This female poet whose writing style is as cold as her person, her speech is as concise and pungent as her poems, full of sharp sarcasm without showing any edge, and heart-wrenching words without being mean, which makes people breathless.
She also didn’t mention her name, but everyone could hear her implication. Such words are always more hurtful when spoken from the mouth of a beautiful woman. Some people looked at Wang Zixu with gloating, admiring his expression.
Then came the next one, and the next one... As if they had made an appointment, everyone started talking about Wang Zixu's crazy behavior.
When Wang Zixu thought about it, he understood: he is now in charge of traffic. Traffic responsibility, in other words, is a living target. There is no better way to establish your own personality than to criticize a person in charge of traffic.
Chen Qingluo was sitting quietly on the sofa in the lounge, with a magazine spread out on her lap.
The female receptionist came over, gave her some water, and said softly: "Mr. Gu will be here soon."
Chen Qingluo did not respond.
The female receptionist said again: "There is a discussion meeting being held outside right now. It's very lively. Do you want to go and have a look?"
Chen Qingluo woke up from a dream.
“What theme?”
“About the Nobel Prize for Literature.” The female receptionist repeated the theme and said, “Many well-known writers participated.”
Chen Qingluo immediately lowered her head: "Not interested."
She refused so decisively and skillfully that the female receptionist felt a strong sense of frustration. So she stopped talking, walked back to her seat silently, and continued to stand.
…
The seating arrangement is round, and the order of speeches is clockwise, so it is clear who the next speaker is. The audience's emotions became more and more enthusiastic.
The speaker is approaching Wang Zixu like the hands of the clock. This is building up a sense of expectation. When he reaches the front of Wang Zixu, the sense of expectation has reached its peak.
Before I knew it, there were people standing around, and it was so dark that it felt like everyone in the hotel was here, but the scene remained strangely quiet.
The prince raised his head and saw that the VIP seats on the second floor, which were empty just now, were now full, and they all looked down at him.
He felt tremendous pressure.
“…Thank you, I’m done.” The last person who spoke finally finished and handed over the microphone. Wang Zixu took it in his hand. It was warm and uncomfortable.
He moved his hand down and grasped the cold part below.
"So, what kind of character is a literary knight?" Sartre asked, "Ride a horse and kill these people one by one with a lance?"
The little prince rolled his eyes at him: "You are talking about this Liangshan hero."
The two chatted.
“I meant it as a metaphor,” Sartre said. “The lance I mentioned is actually the gun of literature.” It makes sense. Literature is like music, which can only be understood by close friends. It is not power and cannot be pointed at others to convince others. "Sartre said: "Then you can't win this game."
"There is no such thing as winning in literature," the little prince said. "Sholokhov didn't win either. Those who want to question him will continue to question him all their lives. He turned over the table in 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.
"Almost half of the people just said that they feel ashamed to be in the company of a certain peer. I think everyone might as well be more frank. The peer you are talking about is me, right?"
The audience burst into laughter.
Chen Qingluo was sitting in the lounge, her eyelids raised slightly, then slowly lowered.
The front desk couldn’t stand any longer, so he walked out with high heels on to the second floor to watch.
Wang Zixu said: "Someone told me that sincerity and kindness are the most precious qualities of a writer. I have always believed that.
"I have always been a sincere person. If there is one thing, I will say one, and if there is two, I will say two. I saw a look of disdain on someone's face. She seemed to be cursing in her heart, thinking that I was excusing herself.
“Sorry, this is not an excuse. I am just stating a fact. Maybe she doesn’t think so, but I do. This is what I call sincerity.
"Everyone says they don't want to be associated with a certain peer. They say it very well and are very eloquent. But in my opinion, this is not sincere. If you are sincere, just name it directly.
"I accept what everyone said, and I will say more. To be sincere, please bear with me:
“What I want to say is that you are very good.”
“At least in this discussion, under this topic, you are not worthy of sitting with me. ”