Back to 80: My literary life.

Chapter 641 Death of a Poet
In addition to the criticisms from young students in Shanghai, the official media also officially joined in.

China Youth Daily launched a column titled "What has Wang Shuo brought us?" to discuss the "Wang Shuo phenomenon"
Guangming Daily published an article titled "What to Read from Wang Shuo's Novels" which said: "If literature is completely based on a commodity concept, it will inevitably damage the characteristics and spirit of art... If literature is turned into a tool for 'entertaining and relieving boredom' or 'making people laugh', it will reject profundity and meaning and become vulgar."

Autumn in Yanjing seems to have come a little suddenly today.

An autumn rain fell just after the National Day and the weather turned cold. Wang Shuo, who lived in the compound, soon felt the autumn chill.

But Xijing is much hotter.

After several consecutive days of strong sunshine, people who had just put on their coats took them off and put on short-sleeved shirts and skirts, as if summer had come again.

Another major event occurred in the literary world: on October 1993, 10, Gu Cheng, who was far away in New Zealand, hacked his wife Xie Ye to death with an axe in his apartment, and then hanged himself under a tree.

When this news reached the country, it shocked the entire literary world.

A newspaper in the capital city had a large black frame on the second page headline, with four large characters clearly visible: "The Poet is Dead."

Fang Minghua saw this newspaper when Wang Zi showed it to him.

There was nothing to do this afternoon. Both children went to school, the babysitter Li Xiaoqin was doing housework at home, and Fang Minghua was fiddling with a bunch of flowers and plants in the yard.

Li Xiaoqin works efficiently and diligently. She cleans the entire house inside and out and basically takes care of all the housework.

However, there were two things that Fang Minghua didn't let her do and did them himself.

One is the calligraphy and painting hall on the third floor, which is cleaned and arranged by Fang Minghua himself, and Li Xiaoqin does not have the key to the door. The other is the flowers and plants in the yard.

This year, Fang Minghua planted more than 20 pots of chrysanthemums in the yard. It is already autumn, and Fang Minghua is preparing to repot them to prepare for winter and next year's growth.

Repotting is a technical job, so Fang Minghua called Wang Zi to help.

Wang Zi settled down completely in Xijing City. She and her boyfriend were in love with each other and I heard that they were preparing to get married.

The girl was a frequent visitor to Fang Minghua's home. In addition to asking Fang Minghua for advice on literature, she also came to grow grass and pick flowers.

However, the latter was Fang Minghua asking Wang Zi for advice.

Hearing the doorbell, Fang Minghua brushed the dirt off his hands and went to open the door. He saw the girl standing at the door with a newspaper in her hand.

Before Fang Minghua could say anything, Wang Zi handed him the newspaper: "Teacher Fang, Gu Cheng is dead!"

Fang Minghua took the newspaper, looked at it, said "I see." Then he returned the newspaper to the girl and turned into the yard.

Wang Zi was a little confused. How could the teacher be indifferent to this topic that shocked the entire literary world and even caused a stir among ordinary people in the country?
Seeing Fang Minghua squatting down and fiddling with the flower pot again, Wang Zi couldn't help but say, "Gu Cheng is dead, and the newspaper reported it this way. Teacher, you should know what it means, right?"

Fang Minghua looked up at her and smiled: "Of course I know, this is imitating the way the local newspapers reported the death of the Russian poet Pushkin, right?"

"Yes"

"But how did Pushkin die? He died in a duel with his love rival. It seems a bit stupid now, but at least he didn't harm others, right? How did Gu Cheng die? He chopped his wife to death and then committed suicide. He was a murderer."

After hearing Fang Minghua's words, Wang Zi paused.

After a while, he said, "But he is a poet, and his poems are very good. Teacher, I remember you like his poems too, right?"

"Yes, I do like him, but this cannot deny that he is a murderer." Fang Minghua replied and picked up the flowerpot again.

"Let me help you." Wang Zi hurriedly squatted down and carefully took a chrysanthemum out of the pot.

Then start cleaning the roots, and within a few minutes, a pot of chrysanthemums is planted in the new pot.

"Just water it a little more. Remember, wait until the water is absorbed dry before watering again." Wang Zi instructed patiently.

"Okay, I'll get the kettle." When Fang Minghua got the kettle and carefully watered the chrysanthemums in the new pot, Wang Zi couldn't help asking, "Teacher Fang, many writers and poets in the literary world have published articles to commemorate Gu Cheng. Why don't you say something?"

"What? That he is a murderer?" Fang Minghua asked back.

"No, it's to commemorate his literary talent and his contribution to the poetry world!" said Wang Zi.

"Since so many people are commemorating her, do I need to say anything?" Fang Minghua glanced at the girl calmly: "Everyone is mourning Gu Cheng now, but have you ever thought about his wife Xie Ye, who was killed by him? Is anyone mourning Xie Ye? How would Xie Ye's mother feel when she saw so many people mourning the murderer who killed her daughter?!"

Wang Zi was silent.

"So, any mourning is inappropriate now. But the person is dead, the dead are the greatest, and I don't want to say words like murderer in public, so I will keep silent."

"Teacher Fang, your ideas are different from others."

"So do you think what I said is right?"

"Yes!" the girl nodded.

"That's good, bring me that pot of flowers.

"okay."

Two hours later, more than 20 pots of chrysanthemums were turned over. Fang Minghua felt a sense of accomplishment as he looked at the two rows of chrysanthemums neatly arranged on the wooden rack next to the yard.

"Wang Zi, don't leave tonight, have dinner at my house." Fang Minghua said.

"No. I'm going to Ren Hao's place tonight." Wang Zi said.

Ren Hao is her boyfriend.

"Okay, then I won't try to keep you. When are you getting married?" Fang Minghua asked with a smile.

"Well, it's tentatively scheduled for the twelfth lunar month, but the exact date hasn't been decided yet. I still have to go back to Shencheng to discuss it with my parents."

"Okay, if you need any help, just let me know."

Not long after the girl left, the phone in the living room rang. Fang Minghua went to answer it. It was Bai Miao calling.

"Minghua, many writers and poets in the literary world are mourning Gu Cheng now. Why don't you write an article? Publish it in the essay column of Yanhe?"

"Me? No."

"why?"

"Wang Zi came to my house just now and asked me the same question." Fang Minghua briefly recounted the conversation he had just had with Wang Zi.

On the other end of the phone, Bai Miao also fell silent.

"Hey, you guys don't write. Writers and poets from other provinces are talking about this, and our Qin Province writers are once again collectively silent."

"Isn't that good? It shows you have a conscience."

"But no one submits articles to me, so I can't take advantage of this popularity." Bai Miao lamented on the phone.

"You write, you are also a writer, why don't you write?!"

"I?"

After a while, his voice came from the microphone: "I have to have a conscience too."

(End of this chapter)