Back to 80: My literary life.

Chapter 437 Shen Congwen’s Funeral
Fang Minghua was surprised when he heard this.

"Shen Congwen? Is he the writer who wrote "Border Town"?"

"That's right, you've also watched "Border Town"?"

"I've seen it. How did you know about his death? There was no report on TV?" Fang Minghua asked curiously.

"I saw it in a newspaper. I'll look for it for you." Shi Tiesheng rummaged through a pile of newspapers for a while, found a newspaper and handed it to Fang Minghua.

"Look at this."

It turned out to be the latest edition of "Literary News"! Fang Minghua was on a business trip these two days, no wonder he didn't see it.

Above, in the cracks of the third page, there is only one line: "Comrade Shen Congwen, my country's famous writer and researcher of historical relics, passed away at 5:10 pm on May 8 at the age of 30 due to ineffective treatment."

What the hell!

The death of an influential writer was almost silent.

On the bus back, Fang Minghua looked out the window at the busy traffic and thought about this.

"it is good."

"I want to go to his memorial service." Fang Minghua said.

After hearing Fang Minghua's thoughts, Shi Tiesheng sighed again: "I also admire this writer very much, but no matter what I say, I don't know when his funeral will be held."

I don’t have any other intention, just the book "Border Town".

A generation of literary giants almost just passed away, quietly.

"My legs can't go that far. You take me there to express my condolences."

"Ah."

Fang Minghua and Shi Tiesheng chatted for a while before saying goodbye and returning to the General Political Courtyard.

"Okay, when the time comes, our names will be inscribed on the elegiac couplet on the wreath."

"Is it in the newspaper?" Fang Minghua asked again.

Shi Tiiesheng started rummaging through his pile of newspapers again, and Fang Minghua also went over to help.

Some may also say that now that the economy needs to be invigorated, who would care about the life or death of a writer?

It seems that no one mentioned it at the Writers Association meeting.

"Let me look through it again."

"I didn't know the writer Shen Congwen until I read the novel "Border Town"." Shi Tiesheng sighed, "I also read his collection of essays "Xiang Travel Essays". "Zhuxu" is so beautiful."

After listening to Shi Tiesheng's words, Fang Minghua suddenly discovered that the prose written by Shi Tiesheng was somewhat similar to Shen Congwen's style, especially his article "The Temple of Earth and Me", which has not yet been published.

Finally, I saw the obituary in yesterday's People's Daily, which stated that Shen Congwen's funeral will be held at Babaoshan Cemetery at 5 a.m. on May 18.

He had never seen Shen Congwen, either before time travel or in this life, but now that he was in time to see the old man off.

Can production be ramped up with just a pen?
No one can answer this question.

"Minghua, are you going tomorrow?" Shi Tiesheng asked.

In the evening, I returned to Song Tangtang's grandfather's house and talked about this matter with the old man while watching TV.

"What, Shen Congwen passed away?" Grandma, who was reading the newspaper with her reading glasses on, heard Fang Minghua say this and immediately raised her head and looked at him.

"Yes, it has been published in the People's Daily. He will be buried tomorrow. Grandma, do you know Shen Congwen?" Fang Minghua replied.

"Why don't you know? I read "Border Town" written by him when I was young. He is a genius. However, he stopped writing after liberation and went to study ancient costumes. It is a pity." Grandma sighed lightly.

Fang Minghua was speechless after hearing this.

For those grievances and grievances in history, we, the descendants, can only find out the whole story from a few words in the book. In this big era, each of us is a small person.

"Tomorrow, when you go to the memorial service, you can also bring my condolences with you." Grandma said.

"Okay, grandma."

Early the next morning, Fang Minghua, wearing a white shirt and black trousers, left the General Political Courtyard and took a bus to Babaoshan Cemetery.

The cemetery is located on Shijingshan Road. This is Fang Minghua's first time here. It is green pines and cypresses, quiet and solemn.

There are also a few gravesites of writers here, including Lao She, Zhao Shuli, Liu Yazi and Lin Huiyin.

That Shen Congwen can be buried here is also a recognition of his contribution to the fields of literature and archaeology, right?

However, the cemetery was later moved back to his hometown in western Hunan.

There is a funeral parlor in Youli of Babaoshan, and memorial services are usually held there. Fang Minghua soon asked about Shen Congwen's funeral.

But what surprised him was that no wreaths were collected or placed at the memorial service.

More than 20 large flower baskets made of fresh flowers were placed there. Carnations, chrysanthemums, glans, and especially the huge white lilies were particularly eye-catching.

The people who came to see Mr. Congwen off were basically Shen Congwen's relatives and friends. Fang Minghua only saw a cadre in a Chinese tunic suit in the VIP room, sitting there alone and listening to other people's conversations. Only then did he know that he was a representative of the Federation of Literary and Art Circles.

No sad music was played, but Beethoven's "Pathétique" was played. It is said that this was Shen Congwen's favorite song during his lifetime, and it played nine times in the hall.

Fang Minghua hardly knew anyone and didn't introduce himself much. He just said that he was an ordinary reader and liked reading Mr. Shen's books very much.

There is no need to say so much, just express your condolences.

After the family members bid farewell to the body, the guests filed in slowly from the entrance of the auditorium. Everyone held a bright rose in their hands and placed it on Shen Congwen's body with respect.

Fang Minghua followed behind, followed the people in front of him and then left quietly. As soon as he left the funeral home, a middle-aged woman in her early forties, wearing a very elegant skirt, stopped him, politely and in a low voice. Asked: "You are Comrade Fang Minghua, the editor-in-chief of "Yanhe", right?"

"I am Fang Minghua, who are you?"

"My name is Li Xiaolin, the editor of Harvest magazine. I met you at the magazine."

That's it!

In the early summer of 1983, Fang Minghua went to Shanghai once to publish "The Legend of Wukong", which was revised and published by "Harvest" magazine.

However, Fang Minghua mainly contacted Xiao Dai, the deputy editor-in-chief of the magazine, and later went to Palladium's residence. He didn't know the other editors.

It's possible that Editor Li remembered him.

These thoughts just passed through his mind for a moment, and Fang Minghua also greeted them politely.

"Hello, Editor Li."

He secretly wondered.

The Writers Association didn't send anyone.

Famous magazines such as Yanjing's "Contemporary" and "People's Literature" did not send people to come, but Shanghai's "Harvest" actually sent people to come!
"Editor Fang, I didn't expect you to come to Mr. Shen's memorial service. Do you know Mr. Shen?" Li Xiaolin asked.

Fang Minghua shook his head.

"I came to attend the Board of Directors of the Writers' Association and accidentally heard that Mr. Shen had passed away, so I rushed over to see Mr. Shen off."

After listening to Fang Minghua's explanation, Li Xiaolin sighed: "Comrade Minghua, you are really a sweetheart. There are so many people in the Writers' Association but no one has come. My father is in poor health. If he comes to Yanjing for a meeting, he will definitely attend."

Fang Minghua was a little curious after hearing this.

"Editor Li, who is your father?"

"Palladium."

(End of this chapter)