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墨書 Inktalez
Although I had dreamed of becoming a writer since I was very young, even attempting to "pile up" grand ideas during elementary school, I had always been dissatisfied with my writing skills. It seemed that throughout my student years before senior year, despite participating in various competitions across different subjects and levels, I had never won a single essay contest!
Perhaps influenced by feelings of inferiority or other reasons, I developed the notion of "staying away from literature." When it came time for sophomore year to choose between science and humanities, I opted for science, effectively declaring that I would no longer pursue my literary dreams. Upon reflection, there were indeed several stories during my high school years that made me wary of literature.
During the first midterm exam of my first year of high school, a classmate whose essays were frequently praised by Teacher Zeng quietly lowered his head when the results were announced: he scored only 13 points in physics, possibly the lowest score ever recorded in Class Three or even at Third Middle School. Although he was determined to study humanities and could completely disregard physics during the college entrance exam, this was still a record-breaking score. Could it be that those who are passionate about literature might also experience such embarrassing miracles? My once fervent heart for literature unknowingly developed its first crack.
In the second semester of my first year, a teacher initiated the creation of a literary club in our grade. Contrary to what one might expect, Teacher Zeng Jiqing, a seasoned Chinese language teacher, showed little enthusiasm for this endeavor and did not encourage our classmates to participate actively. Instead, a few literature-loving students from other classes approached us and persuaded some classmates to join. Before we officially became members, they had already scheduled submissions for articles. Perhaps wanting to showcase myself or perhaps because this open-ended approach suited me well, I earnestly prepared a short essay of five to six hundred words to submit.
A few days later, the first issue of Liaomei was distributed among many students. Holding the printed publication in my hands, I noticed that among the twenty or thirty articles—ranging from essays to poetry—my piece stood out as one of the weakest. A flush crept onto my face as I felt embarrassed to be seen; my desire to distance myself from literature grew even stronger.
In sophomore year, after experiencing class divisions and changes in teachers—especially after being placed in Class 108—the solid foundation in Chinese language studies rekindled a flicker of interest in literature within me. As I grew older, my youthful heart began to stir restlessly. Bound by school discipline and parental guidance, I hesitated to step beyond boundaries; instead, I found solace in expressing those intangible feelings through literature or discovering similar emotions in books at the library. It seemed that literature became my best outlet.
As if sensing my changing emotions, the school began to stoke the flames: several notable alumni from Third Middle School were invited back for a lecture series. Among them were two prominent figures who had studied at Liaomei Middle School before and after liberation: Liu Shouqi, then Deputy Director of the Provincial Education Department, and Xie Pu, a renowned writer and Vice Chairman of the Provincial Writers Association; along with Xiao Wei, a new-generation writer who graduated from Third Middle School before the Cultural Revolution; and another alumnus who seemed to be one of the first students from Third Middle School to enter university after the resumption of college entrance exams—though I couldn't recall his name clearly; he worked as a reporter at a newspaper.
The lecture was divided into two phases: the first phase was an assembly for all teachers and students. Over a thousand students lined up neatly on the playground while several alumni spoke eloquently about their experiences at Third Middle School and their continued growth and achievements afterward. Their words stirred every student's ambition as Principal Chen sat on stage with a broad smile—this was precisely what he aimed to achieve.
The second phase involved smaller discussions held in the school library. Only a few teachers attended while dozens of students were all members of the Liaomei Literary Society. Xiao Wei led this session while other alumni occasionally chimed in or answered students' questions. I sat quietly among them but didn’t absorb much content—especially not writing techniques—as it felt like my thoughts couldn’t keep pace with the writers’ leaps; perhaps my heart wasn’t truly seeking writing tips but rather absorbing bits of admiration for literature from the passionate voices and exaggerated gestures of several well-known classmates.
Just when I couldn’t tell whether I loved literature more or wanted to distance myself from it to focus on studying, an incident that shocked several villages solidified my desire to stay away from literature:
As senior year approached its end and winter's chill set in, after two weeks away from home preparing for college entrance exams, I returned home only to find my mother back from working in the fields. Unlike her usual inquiries about my studies, she lowered her voice and asked me, "Do you know about that family in New House? Is he still at school?"
This classmate from New House was two grades below me and studied humanities with good grades; his writing was exceptional and garnered admiration from many female classmates—he was quite popular at Third Middle School—but I hadn’t heard anything about his family.
My mother informed me that last month when he returned home, he brought back a female classmate with whom he had significant conflicts at home. They ended up arguing with his mother; shockingly, he joined his classmate in cursing at her and even struck her. Unable to comprehend her son's actions, his mother drank a bottle of pesticide and despite being rushed to the hospital, she could not be saved!
It’s easy to imagine how schools and parents viewed early romantic relationships as dangerous during this era; they kept watchful eyes on any interactions between male and female classmates and surely wouldn’t tolerate bringing a girl home. It’s unfathomable why this classmate would bring a girl home or how he could curse at his mother alongside his friend—even telling her “Go ahead and drink it” as she reached for the pesticide…
Could this be what someone passionate about literature looks like? It seemed that novels often depicted such pioneers under banners opposing feudal marriage; yet here was my poor "sister-in-law," ironically acting as a "feudal guardian" who paid with her life for her "chastity!"
Chilled to the bone by this revelation, I silently resolved—to distance myself from literature!
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