Chapter 600 599 [Creation]

In the afternoon, the sun became hot again.

The hot and humid air burned my skin, and even fanning like crazy didn't help. Everyone wanted to be like a dog, sticking out their tongues to spread more heat, and refused to go to the bamboo forest for gatherings again.

Lin Huiyin was drinking mung bean soup and suddenly suggested: "Why don't you write something, novels, poems, essays, essays... any subject matter will do. Then select the 30 best works among them and compile them into a book "Auspicious Talisman" Collected Works" to be published."

"This is a good idea. I will be responsible for the editing work." Hu Shi responded immediately.

Hu Shi was good at writing reviews, translating novels, and writing academic research articles, but he was not good at literary creation. His poetry and prose are relatively mediocre, among which the vernacular poem "Butterfly" is the most representative——

Two yellow butterflies flew into the sky.

For some reason, a Hufei returned.

The remaining one is lonely and pitiful.

I have no intention of going to heaven, because it is too lonely.

From this limerick, we can see the level of Mr. Hu Shi's poetry - it seems that there is no level at all.

The smartest thing about Hu Shi was that he knew how to make use of his strengths and avoid his weaknesses. Upon hearing Lin Huiyin's suggestion of improvisation, Hu Shi immediately took over the task of compiling the anthology. In this way, he could avoid making a fool of himself while occupying a dominant position in this creation.

Created collectively by so many cultural celebrities, "Collection of Auspicious Runes" is sure to cause a sensation. At that time, everyone opened the book and took a look: Hey, this anthology was originally edited by Mr. Hu Shi!

How could Zhou Hexuan not know what Hu Shi was thinking? He just smiled and was too lazy to reveal it.

"You go ahead and write, I won't show my shame." Jiang Xiaoyuan said very honestly. He was one of the top sculptors in China at this time. He could create sculptures, and he was also good at painting, but he was not good at writing literature.

Xu Zhenfei also smiled and said: "I study economics and have no research on literature."

One after another, seven or eight more people gave up writing activities, including philosophers like Jin Yuelin.

In fact, they must have no problem writing articles. They have essays, travel notes and so on at their fingertips. It's just that there are too many masters present, and they don't want to make up the numbers, so they all choose to hide their clumsiness.

On the other hand, Liu Haisu, a painter, started writing prose with great interest. He studied prose deeply.

Zhou Hexuan was leaning in the corner to enjoy the coolness alone, drinking mung bean soup happily, without any enthusiasm for writing an article. It's not that Zhou Hexuan can't write this kind of work. Before time travel, he traveled around the world. When he ran out of money, he wrote travel notes and published them in various travel magazines and self-media. This was his first cooking skill.

Even if he can't write it himself, Zhou Hexuan can still copy it. He can just copy a few fine essays and revise them, which is a good work.

The main reason is that I have no inspiration and don’t know what to write. Zhou Hexuan is already well-known, so why should he steal the limelight from others?

Only writers like Su Xuelin, who are neither good nor bad, and are somewhat famous in the literary world but lack influence, need to express themselves well on such occasions, at least their future manuscript fees will definitely increase.

Shen Congwen also didn't write. He liked to stay alone in his room to create. His words flowed from his soul, and he was not suitable for the lively live composition competition.

The weather is getting hotter and hotter, and everyone is sweating.

Lu Xiaoman's old habit relapsed and she felt dizzy and almost fainted. Xu Zhimo quickly helped her to the vent and got a corner of opium to ease the pain. In an era when there was a lack of painkillers, opium was the best painkiller. This was the main reason why Lu Xiaoman could not live without opium.

Zhou Hexuan had seen a similar disease in the 21st century. The modern medical name is "Ménière's syndrome". Every time an attack occurs without any warning, the patient will feel strong rotational vertigo, often accompanied by nausea, vomiting, sweating, tinnitus, fullness and other symptoms. In severe cases, they may even suffer tremendous pain.

Even in the 21st century, when medicine is advanced, the cause of Meniere's syndrome is still unknown, and it is very difficult to cure it. Doctors can only advise patients to rest, eat more fruits and vegetables, and maintain a balanced diet.

As for the Republic of China period, it was even less likely to receive effective treatment. Doctors unanimously believed that Lu Xiaoman suffered from "syncope".

After Lu Xiaoman's side stabilized, Zhou Hexuan walked over and asked, "Are you okay?"

"It's an old problem, just take a break." Xu Zhimo sighed. He didn't want to divorce Lu Xiaoman. The main reason was that he couldn't rest assured and felt that Lu Xiaoman needed to be taken care of.

Zhou Hexuan pushed the door open and looked up at the sky. The sun had been obscured by dark clouds. But the weather did not become cooler because of this, but became more muggy. Zhou Hexuan said to himself: "I'm afraid it's going to rain again."

"Boom!" Thunder sounded.

Menlei, only thunder, no rain.

However, there was a gust of mountain wind blowing, which accelerated the evaporation of sweat on the body surface, making Zhou Hexuan feel a slight chill.

As time passed slowly, the sky became darker and darker, and the mountain wind became stronger and stronger, causing the bamboo forest on the hillside to sway in the wind.

"Wow, it's windy. It's so cool!" Zhang Jiazhu ran outside excitedly. He had finished the essay he wrote.

People kept coming out after writing articles, standing in the wind and embracing nature, just hoping for raindrops to fall from the sky soon. Unfortunately, the wind blew, the thunder struck, and it never rained.

Su Xuelin was like a primary school student eager to be praised by her teacher. She held her prose in both hands and handed it to Zhou Hexuan: "Mr. Zhou, this is my humble work. Please correct it."

Zhou Hexuan quickly read her article and said with a smile: "It's very well written. Keep up the hard work."

"That's it, thank you Mr. Zhou." Su Xuelin felt very disappointed because Zhou Hexuan's comment was too perfunctory.

Zhou Hexuan is not deliberately perfunctory, but Su Xuelin's article cannot be evaluated. The biggest feature of this female writer's prose is that she likes to write about people and always mentions her friends - especially friends with power, status and fame.

What she is writing now is a travelogue prose, which is completely a running account. The opening chapter is that she and a certain friend received invitations from Zhou Hexuan and Hu Shi to attend a literary conference about Xu Zhimo, during which there were a lot of descriptions of famous people.

From the perspective of an ordinary reader, I must have read it with gusto and thought this article was interesting and compelling. But for other people on the mountain at this moment, it is tasteless and has no nutrition at all.

Disappointed and embarrassed, Su Xuelin asked: "Didn't Mr. Zhou write an article?"

Zhou Hexuan said: "Lack of inspiration."

Su Xuelin said in a coquettish tone: "How can such a grand event lack Mr. Zhou's article? You should write one."

Zhou Hexuan was so aroused that he felt chills. If the person acting coquettishly was a beautiful girl, he would definitely enjoy it very much, but Su Xuelin was a middle-aged, short and fat woman in her 30s.

In fact, there was nothing in common with Su Xuelin, so Zhou Hexuan quickly pretended to look at the scenery.

Halfway up the hillside, next to the green cornfield, there is a farmer cultivating the land. It was a sloping land of only more than ten square meters, which could only be described as barren, but the farmer was extremely serious when plowing the land, as if a sculptor was carving a flawless piece of jade.

Su Xuelin followed Zhou Hexuan's gaze and sighed palely: "Farmers are really hardworking."

"Yes, China's farmers have been here for generations. They bear the hope of the country." Zhou Hexuan suddenly remembered a poem.

That poem is the work of Mr. Mu Dan, China's greatest modernist poet. In the second year after he wrote that poem, the poet resolutely joined the army and participated in the expeditionary army. He personally experienced the Great Retreat from Yunnan and Burma. He climbed over mountains and ridges in the Savage Mountains and survived by walking on piles of bones. He was tortured by terrible dysentery, and eight days without food drove him crazy. He fled to India after five months of disappearance, and then nearly died from eating too much.

Maybe some people have never heard of Mu Dan's name. His real name is Zha Liangzheng, the cousin of Mr. Jin Yong and the distant cousin of Xu Zhimo.

That poem is called "Praise".