Chapter Forty-Two: Xu Chengjun, the Greatest Poet of Youth
While Xu Chengjun was still deep in discussion with Li Xiaolin about magical realism, his “radical remarks” had already ignited explosive debates across Anhui, rippling far beyond the literary world. Yet, something even more surreal was unfolding in the streets and campuses of Hefei, spreading among all those young people who could read and had bought the Anhui Youth Daily. The phenomenon was sweeping the city at an exaggerated, almost viral pace.
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On July 17, 1979, the “Youth Observation” column in the Anhui Youth Daily published, for the first time, a piece by its columnist Xu Chengjun, offering a resounding answer to all those eagerly awaiting his controversial views. Their anticipation was not misplaced.
It was a poem titled “Walking Toward the Light,” accompanied by a letter, “To Young Friends: Before Setting Out Tomorrow, Converse with the Earth and the Starlight.” For Hefei, shrouded in days of unrelenting rain, this brought the greatest comfort.
What kind of comfort was it?
If one must describe it, it was as if Xu Chengjun, whose words in the interview had stung like a slap, now fed everyone a sweet date after the blow—so sweet it almost cloyed.
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On the campus of Anhui University.
When Lu Xiaoxiao heard Old Wang, who rode his bicycle selling newspapers, mention that Xu Chengjun had a piece in this issue, she immediately bought a copy and hurried back to campus. There, she gathered with the Chinese Literature students who, for various reasons, had also stayed behind at school, and together they pored over the paper.
At the very top of the column was a poem, quite a lengthy one. Psychologically speaking, the younger a person is, the more abundant and intense their emotions, which is why students of every era are most easily moved by poetry, and the ones who love it most. Even before reading, curiosity had already taken hold—what kind of poem would the author of “Scales of Stars,” Xu Chengjun, write this time?
Some students guessed it would be a poem as deep and solemn as Ai Qing’s “I Love This Land,” since “Scales of Stars” revealed Xu’s keen observations of the land and humanity of his time. Others thought it might contain lines as philosophical as Bei Dao’s “The Answer,” with its famous assertion, “Vileness is the passport of the base, nobility the epitaph of the noble,” since Xu’s dialogues with them often brimmed with such thought.
Many knew Xu Chengjun had penned “Time,” a short poem echoing the early Misty Poets, with “The Answer” being the budding representative work of that movement. Some objected, arguing that “The Answer” required greater life experience, and perhaps Xu’s work would be more like Gu Cheng’s “A Generation.” After all, back then, these Chinese Literature students were true “debating champions”—immediately, someone retorted: didn’t “A Generation” also require life experience?
Before the argument died down, someone brought up the matter of age: Bei Dao was thirty, Gu Cheng only in his twenties!
Some went further, believing Xu’s poem would erupt with the volcanic passion of Guo Moruo’s “Goddess,” celebrating “self” and “rebirth.” No one asked why, for anyone who could say, “The pen is not for whitewashing peace, but for piercing the mask of false propriety,” clearly harbored a fire within.
Yet, Lu Xiaoxiao faintly felt that none of them were right.
After a brief bout of debate, everyone lost interest—the answer was right there before them. And so, the students turned to the poem.
It was called “Walking Toward the Light.” Did it feel like a Misty Poem, perhaps?
It was long, stretching across a small section of the page.
...
Lu Xiaoxiao slowly sank into it. At first, there was anticipation; then, a sense of awe; and in the end, she found tears streaming down her cheeks. In those days, every young student had endured some hardship, if not personally, then through the struggles of family or friends.
And there is the most peculiar psychological effect in humans—empathy. Most astonishing is that sometimes, this effect does not diminish but intensifies! Naturally, this is also the most beautiful part of humanity. Emotion, after all—“If Heaven had feelings, Heaven itself would grow old.”
When Lu Xiaoxiao looked up, she saw that the girls’ eyes glistened with tears, and even many of the boys were wiping their faces, trying to hide their reddened eyes.
“This poem… it’s truly beautiful,” Lu Xiaoxiao sighed from the depths of her heart. She read it again from start to finish, as if the lines printed on the newspaper were rare treasures.
…
Walking Toward the Light
By Xu Chengjun
When the wind brought the first breath of fragrance,
You were counting moss stains on the stone steps,
And a dandelion, holding its feathery umbrella, drifted by.
It said—
“I see even the humblest flower has its thoughts,
Hidden in places tears cannot reach.”
/
Moonlight spills through the cracks in the window,
Planting two shadows on the floor.
One wakes in darkness,
Counting the paths of falling stars;
One dreams in the light,
Dreaming of letters yet unopened.
/
There’s no need to chase the mountain winds,
They have no fixed shape.
You
Cannot change the contour of a mountain,
Cannot alter a bird’s flight,
Cannot quicken the river’s flow,
So just observe, discover its beauty—that is enough.
/
When the morning mist brushes your ankles,
Someone calls your name from behind,
Like the candy hawker’s cry in the alleys of childhood.
“The older I get, the more grateful I am for such a childhood. That was paradise.”
And you suddenly recall,
Tucked in your pocket when you set out,
Half a piece of moonlight,
And after all these miles,
You’re still holding your first glimmer.
/
Don’t let fear hollow out the warmth of your palm.
Once fear takes hold, wisdom is lost.
Those suits of armor called “maturity”—
Only when you take them off do you realize,
Maturity is a deep kind of despair.
Better to be like the stream,
Singing your own song, even at the bends.
/
People who pass by may leave something behind—
Perhaps half a fallen leaf, a sigh.
But those who stir our emotions and memories are all passersby.
In truth,
Most of the time, it’s yourself you reject,
Not others.
So gently smooth out the creases in your shadow.
/
The cicadas you hear sing in the treetops,
The heartbeat you can’t hear thunders in your chest.
The sounds you hear are beautiful, but those unheard are more so.
They say—
Life’s greatest decisions are shaped by the heart,
Like a pre-drawn framework,
Awaiting the constellations you set in motion.
So,
There’s no need to stand at the crossroads waiting for a late answer.
They say, if you wait too long for an answer,
The answer itself loses its meaning.
/
After all, at the end of the road,
New buds are always forming.
Don’t forget, no matter how far you go, why you first set out.
Flowers on earth will bloom one after another,
And grand, imperishable things will come in their turn.
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Stunned! Utterly stunned! No, perhaps there was also deep emotion!
It was a long moment before the students could compose themselves. They looked at each other, realizing they were not alone in their tears.
At first, one cannot grasp the meaning in a song, but upon hearing it again, you become the subject of its melody.
Unable to hold back, “Glasses” Zhou Mingyuan was the first to offer his verdict: “What a beautiful poem—more beautiful than any I’ve ever read!”
Such high praise! Yet, among this group of self-proclaimed “literary critics,” no one objected.
“If you took each stanza apart, each one could stand as a poem. Putting them together is sheer extravagance!”
“In my eyes, this poem alone makes Teacher Xu the greatest bard of youth!”
…
Had Xu Chengjun been there, he would have realized it wasn’t that his poem was truly unparalleled in beauty. Rather, it was that these pure, unspoiled young people were intoxicated—utterly smitten with their dose of “chicken soup for the soul”!
For a moment, the classroom fell silent.
Who first noticed there was still another “bowl of soup” left on the newspaper?—no, another work! Or perhaps, more accurately, a letter addressed to them all.
After all,
They truly were young people.