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墨書 Inktalez
In the years of 1987 and 1988, after more than a decade of upheaval, the remnants of the Cultural Revolution had long faded away with Scar Literature. Instead, a tide of Western culture and ideas surged into the country during the 1980s, leading to the direct implementation of the Opposition to Bourgeois Liberalization policy and changes among certain leaders. At this pivotal moment when political and public thought was in turmoil, the clash between Eastern and Western cultures intensified. Although I had never been politically inclined, I inadvertently clung to a pitiful yet laughable writing style.
Education is a rich legacy left by thousands of years of Chinese history. The leaders of New China, while having "overturned an old world," firmly retained the tools of education, critically inheriting them. The rapidly spreading broadcasting system and the centrally controlled propaganda apparatus dominated the thoughts and actions of the populace.
During this time, education also contributed its share, most notably through the Chinese language curriculum and textbooks that extended from First Grade to the third year of high school. I couldn't pinpoint when it began, but Lu Xun's writings started appearing frequently in our textbooks, subtly shaping our thoughts. As a naive youth, my understanding of the world and life was still immature; my interest in politics and higher-ups was minimal, and my comprehension of Lu Xun's works was superficial. Yet, unknowingly, I developed a sarcastic writing style.
Coincidentally, for several consecutive years, the essay format for college entrance examinations became an unwritten rule favoring argumentative essays. From the start of high school, our Chinese language teacher primarily trained us in this genre, causing this style to seep deeper into my writing day by day. In the first three years, perhaps due to my still-maturing skills or lingering fear and respect, sarcasm wasn't overly prevalent in my work. However, by Makeup Class, under a more relaxed management style from the teacher, my writing style ignited like a spark meeting oxygen.
Years later, reflecting on that time, if this style had merely been used for essays or diary entries, it would have been harmless; achieving recognition as a "writer" would have brought even greater honor and admiration. Unfortunately, as someone who hadn't mastered either side fully yet still sought to show off, I inadvertently hurt others while absorbing Lu Xun's Legacy of Cultural Revolution.
The first sister to maintain correspondence with me was Huang Dongxiu, who became my biggest victim. After decades of life's trials, I can no longer recall what I wrote back then; I can only sense the scars from her replies:
"I used to think you were a simple and innocent little brother, but now I find your personality quite strange. You seem deeply troubled, complex, and contradictory inside, even if you don't show it on the surface. This is just my initial impression of you; perhaps it's due to my lack of understanding. I hope you won't be upset."
Little did I know that this self-proclaimed "Wolong who knows nothing about worldly affairs" was quite perceptive in this regard—more so than I was. Thank you for your reminder. From your letter, it was clear that your dissatisfaction with the world was even stronger than mine; you seemed to have seen through worldly matters and harbored anger towards society. You mentioned that you only liked to write now; surely you've produced many remarkable works? Could you share them with your sister? It seems your writing ability has greatly improved since before; otherwise, even your sister wouldn't understand your masterpieces. Your personality seems quite peculiar now—almost elusive—reminiscent of Lu Xun's style: neither warm nor cold but rather discomforting.
I feel like you're like summer weather—changing at a whim. You still seem like a child who can't bear any grievances. In your last letter to me, you hadn't even given me a proper response before you started complaining about how "it should be an elder sister's attitude towards her younger brother." It's truly amusing yet infuriating! Have you considered that your letter was written as a younger brother? I thought it was from some sage expounding profound theories while looking down on me as if I were insignificant; then you tell me to lower my stance—it's like Zhu Bajie turning around to blame others!
Perhaps your time is "too short," yet you say you "seem to have plenty of time." I'm not sure if you have time or not. But as someone who's been through it all, I know how precious your time is; I hesitate to write to you for fear of interrupting your studies or wasting your energy—I can't bear that guilt! I also feel that our correspondence has turned into a debate format; however, one person cannot change that.
I never expected you'd use "bright as a fire yet hidden like a knife" to describe me—it truly infuriated me! You don't realize how deeply your words wounded my fragile pride; because of this, I once vowed never to write to you again.
Searching through my diary, I finally found a passage deeply influenced by Lu Xun's Legacy of Cultural Revolution; perhaps these few remaining words mark the end of my correspondence with my sister:
"I can't understand why we always feel somewhat out of place. During this long summer vacation, my thoughts wandered idly many times on this question until an accidental opportunity led me to a sudden realization. Perhaps it's because both of us are somewhat proud and don't know each other well enough; even Jia Baoyu and Lin Daiyu—a pair so in tune with each other—once quarreled due to misunderstanding and arrogance; how much more so for us?"
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