Age of the Mist

Chapter 601 The soul is love

Shen Xingye was about to explode when he heard the words: "Huh? Give me a class? It's really condescending. Okay, come on, I'd like to see what advice you have!"

Shi did not give in: "It's very simple, in one sentence: Your novel, I don't know what it is, it's a mess."

"Ah? You, you, you talking nonsense! Why is my art so ignorant and messy? The kind of stuff you write is ignorant and messy!" Shen Xingye was furious: "Look Look at you, grandstanding, do you have a little depth? Do you have a little romanticism in literature and art? You, this thing, once you see it, you forget it in a blink of an eye, rubbish, literary rubbish!"

When someone Shi heard the words, he admitted it generously: "I admit, these things I wrote casually really have no romantic feelings, in fact, even I don't like them. But what about you, are you awesome? I'm It’s rubbish that makes people forget after seeing it. You don’t even want to watch it, it’s worse than rubbish.”

"You, you, you!" Shen Xingye stretched out his finger, and almost didn't pull it: "That's someone else's aesthetic..."

"Bring it down, it's not an aesthetic problem, it's just that the level is not enough." Shi Tiexin asked soulfully: "If you think your own is art and a standard, then let me ask you, can your works make people completely forget themselves?"

"Can it make people have endless aftertaste?"

"Can it make people gain knowledge and indulge emotionally?"

"Do you still remember when you were intoxicated by literature, those things that made you treasured, did you not let go of them, did you stay up all night, did you empathize with them, were they unforgettable, and have always affected you until now? "

"And what you wrote, can others keep their hands on it and stay up all night?"

Shen Xingye opened and closed his mouth, closed and opened his mouth, his eyes were round and he didn't know what to say.

If it's a simple quarrel, he can open up the air and quarrel fiercely, spraying fiercely for an hour without repeating the same thing. After all, literati have the traditional virtue of fighting with the Confucians.

But Shi Tiexin's questioning was not a simple quarrel, but a direct torture of the soul.These tortures made him suddenly understand that the big man in front of him was not talking in general terms, he did ask the heart of literary feelings, and it made him even more confused about how to refute.

Holding back, holding back, his face was flushed, and finally, Shen Xingye suddenly collapsed like a deflated ball, and sat down on the bed with a plop, dejected: "Yes, you are right, I can't do it, I really wrote it It's worse than rubbish..."

With the sound of footsteps, Shi Tiexin walked over.

Hmph, taunt me, claim your victory aloofly, no matter it is knowledge or dream, I have failed...

But at this time, Shi Tiexin only heard a creaking sound, pulled a wooden chair, and then sat down on his back.

Shi Tiexin's voice sounded calm and generous, tolerant and full of strength: "I have read everything you write, including your poems, your novels, your essays, your manuscripts, and even your 'Driving Book'."

Shen Xingye raised his head slightly, his eyes wandered, he didn't want to speak, but he couldn't hold back in the end: "Really?"

"Really, I can recite two paragraphs for you right now. The rooster outside the window is chattering by the oven. You feel very hungry when you say this. Are you reciting it wrong?"

Shen Xingye couldn't help but raised his head completely, staring blankly at Shi Tiexin.

His literary dream has always been a joke, and no one has ever praised it.Even though he shamelessly posts poems every day and smugly declares himself to be a great writer, in fact he himself knows that "Night" is not a great poet or a great writer in the hearts of his classmates, but just a strange campus talk after dinner, a vulgar joke .

He really didn't expect that Shi Tiexin could recite the original text, and at this moment, he was moved from the bottom of his heart.

Shi Tiexin continued: "Actually, what you write is not useless—well, the poems are indeed almost meaningless. But your prose is gorgeous, the novel is smooth, and the content is extensively quoted."

Shen Xingye scratched his head.

No, old man, don't praise me, no matter how much you praise me, I won't laugh out loud, ahaha, ahahaha!

Mr. Shi had enough foreshadowing, and turned around: "But you have one of the most serious problems."

Shen Xingye asked nervously, "What's the problem?"

"Your words have no soul."

Shen Xingye had question marks all over his head: "Soul?"

"Yes." Shi Tiexin thought of Fujiwara Jishin, and of that person's galloping soul, and said solemnly, "Soul is love."

Shen Xingye blushed instantly, and stammered: "Old Tie, can we stop being so silly when we talk..."

"You think I'm joking? I'm not. I'm serious. The soul of literature comes from love." Shi Tiexin said seriously, "Do you love your characters?"

"Can you respect their character and their ideas?"

"Do you feel like they're alive? Have free will? Have you ever had a character say what he wants to say, do what he wants to do, and not completely controlled by himself?" feeling?"

"Can you share joys and sorrows with the characters, be happy with their happiness, and be sad with their sorrow?"

"Can you be gratified by the growth of the character and feel lonely at the end of the stage?"

"Would you have to stop, stop writing, or stop writing for some reason, crying bitterly, heartbroken, and tears on the pen?"

"Are you simply concerned about your own work, rather than grades, manuscript fees, income, and the number of readers?"

"When the writing is not good, it is too annoying."

"When writing smoothly, I am so happy that I forget to sleep and eat."

"You once said that your pen pal, who knows how to draw, can paint whatever he wants to see. But how about you, who can write novels? Since you have wonderful pens, why don't you go to Write yellow text and fleshy text?"

"I tell you, when you really love your words, you won't write."

"You will see your role as a parent, as a child, as a lover, as yourself."

"Because what you put in your pen is your best fantasy, pure emotion, and the most steadfast yearning."

"And this is love."

"You can practice if you are not good at writing, you can accumulate knowledge if you are not enough, it doesn't matter if you can't read, those are all changeable. Only this love that never regrets until death is the soul. And as long as you have this soul, as long as you If you don't let go—" Shi Tiexin raised his hand, pointing at Shen Xingye's heart: "Your dream cannot be taken away by anyone."

"Because for you, everything in the text is alive, in the world you know."

Shen Xingye is stupid.

He never thought that he would hear such words from Shi Tiexin's mouth that directly touched his soul.

He couldn't help asking: "You don't write novels, how do you know?"

"Because everything in the world leads to the same goal." Shi Tiexin smiled gently: "You love literature, but I love life."

(End of this chapter)