Chapter 70: The Sect's Holy Son Possesses Extraordinary Talent—A Reversal of Selection?
After reading, he paused briefly and explained, “This passage emphasizes that the essence of comparative literature isn’t surface-level comparison, but rather discovering a shared spiritual core among different cultures through dialogue.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Jia Zhifang’s eyes. She asked, “Did you learn your English while working in the countryside?”
That must be it!
Xu Chengjun scratched his head, “I learned it from radio broadcasts, and with a battered English-Chinese pocket dictionary. Whenever I came across a word I didn’t understand, I forced myself to look it up. Eventually, I got the hang of it.”
The professors thought: You managed to reach this level just from the radio???
Fine, you’re simply extraordinary.
Zhu Dongrun chuckled beside him, “It’s already very standard. Old Jia’s hurdle is cleared. Foreign languages are indeed essential for scholarship.”
Actually... I can speak Spanish too!
Xu Chengjun hesitated, but decided not to mention his Spanish skills.
Genius and madness are separated by a single step.
The throne and the iron bars are only centimeters apart.
Old Zhu picked up Xu Chengjun’s thesis again.
“Xu’s paper was excellent as well. To say it’s at a master’s level would actually be an understatement. I’m getting on in years and can’t always be sure—what does Peiheng think?”
No longer calling him comrade?
There’s hope.
Over the course of the morning’s Q&A, all the professors had already browsed through the thesis.
This young fellow isn’t just eloquent; his writing matches his words.
His article is indeed of high caliber—why did the professors only discuss theories?
The thesis speaks for itself; his ability is clear!
The pressure shifted to Professor Zhang.
But with all his years of experience, he wasn’t easily fooled.
Would he not understand his teacher’s intentions?
Zhang Peiheng raised an eyebrow, tapping his fingertips on the table, pondering a moment. “According to regulations, he’d have to start from undergraduate studies.”
The atmosphere in the conference room grew tense.
“But rules are dead, people are alive.”
Xu Chengjun inwardly grumbled: Must you sound so dramatic?
“Everyone saw Xu’s performance today, and you’ve all read his works and thesis. One article published in a provincial journal, ‘The Granary,’ and another in ‘Harvest,’ called ‘The Fitting Room Mirror.’ His foundation is solid.”
What do university professors value most? Your ability in literary research.
Is creative ability important?
Extremely so.
But it’s not the same circle as literary research.
So even with ‘The Fitting Room Mirror’ published in Harvest, it was mentioned only in passing.
What qualifies Xu Chengjun for postgraduate recommendation are his thesis and his intellectual depth.
His creative works are merely the stepping stone.
“Or rather, not just solid, but dazzling. In principle, I agree to Xu Chengjun’s exceptional admission to Master’s studies.”
“Seconded,” Wang Shuizhao gave him due credit.
“I agree as well.” Unexpectedly, Old Jia spoke up.
Su Liancheng and Old Zhu had yet to voice their opinions.
Me... me too?
Then Professor Zhang shifted the topic, “But I must add a condition: before the end of the first semester of the freshman year, he must pass the core undergraduate courses, with exams set by faculty professors and lecturers. Only then will he be considered a graduate student.”
“In the meantime, he’ll attend both undergraduate and graduate courses, and receive the graduate admission notice.”
Xu Chengjun pursed his lips—so you want to have it both ways!
---
Zhang Peiheng finished, then with a smile glanced at the other professors. “If any of you disagree, and Xu later becomes famous, we’ll all likely be ‘remembered in history’!”
What could this mean? Wasn’t his teacher’s intention clear?
After speaking, he swept his gaze across the professors and the academic officer, Sun. “Does anyone have any objections?”
Everyone shook their heads.
The future department chair has decided, and the current chair is still sitting here!
Was it really necessary to say any more?
After surveying the room, Professor Zhang nodded and spoke, “A graduate student must choose a supervisor. Xu Chengjun, would you like to choose me as your advisor?”
So you want to reap the rewards?
Wang Shuizhao wasn’t having it!
As soon as Zhang Peiheng finished, Wang Shuizhao put down his teacup, speaking lightly, “I think Xu’s idea of an ‘academic genealogy chart’ fits perfectly with my research on the history of modern and contemporary literature. Following me, his research results would be implemented fastest.”
A blatant academic enticement~
Zhang Peiheng: You thick-browed, righteous fellow, so impatient?
Su Liancheng couldn’t help but interject, “Xu’s predictions about ‘root-seeking literature’ are spot-on. The field is just about to launch related research. I have plenty of firsthand materials on educated youth literature and rural literature. Under my guidance, he could integrate theoretical research with literary reality more closely. That’s the true soil for a ‘living tree’ to grow.”
Father and son, side by side!
Who says a father-in-law isn’t family!
Finally,
Even Old Zhu gently stroked his beard and laughed, “Xu’s research on the modern transformation of traditional literary theory is rooted in classical literature. He could follow me as well!”
Zhang Peiheng: Wait, Teacher?
The conference room instantly dissolved into a lively scene. The usually composed professors squabbled like children fighting over candy.
Zhang Peiheng feigned displeasure, tapping the table.
Xu Chengjun smiled at the spectacle.
Was this the prodigy being courted, successfully turning the tables?
Academic Officer Sun weakly raised her hand, and with a nod from Old Zhu, she said, “Professors, why not let Xu write an article first? Regardless of whether he’s applying for undergrad or grad school, there’s always an essay in the process. It’ll give you all a break, too.”
What break! It’s just so the professors can confer privately, without losing face!
More importantly, the original manuscript is needed for his file.
Old Zhu nodded, “Sun is right. The process must be completed. Let Xu write an article themed on his hometown—any genre, at least a thousand words. What do you think?”
Last year, it was ‘home village.’ Now, ‘hometown.’
Could you be any more perfunctory?
Sun pressed her hand to her forehead.
....
The professors left the conference room one after another.
Xu Chengjun gradually moved past his initial excitement.
He began to ponder what to write.
Hometown?
What was there in the Xu family village?
After a long while, he picked up his pen and began...
...
While writing,
The wooden chair in the conference room still carried a chill. One hand braced against the table, the other scribbled briskly.
---
Thoughts began to scatter.
He listened as the professors’ voices faded down the corridor.
The wall clock had just struck twelve; with a soft click, the door was pushed open a crack.
Su Manshu slipped in, half her body through the doorway. The collar of her pale blue shirt was dusted with a bit of ash, and she carried a small bamboo lunchbox. Seeing he was alone, she quietly tiptoed inside.
“Grandpa Zhang said the professors went to their offices.”
“The sticky rice cakes in the cafeteria are fresh from the steamer. While no one’s here, have some before they’re gone.”
She opened the lunchbox; steam mingled with the sweet scent of osmanthus.
Two neat squares of sticky rice cake lay at the bottom, sprinkled with fine white sugar.
In the upper tray, a small dish held salty pickled radish, beside a shiny tea egg.
“Interviews are mentally taxing,”
She crouched beside the table, “Sticky rice keeps you full, radish balances the richness. Both can be discreetly eaten.”
She handed him a pair of bamboo chopsticks, her fingers brushing his hand before she quickly pulled away.
Xu Chengjun picked up a rice cake; the fragrance of osmanthus wafted into his nose.
The pastry was exquisitely made, its edges tidy—obviously chosen for its small size, so it wouldn’t stand out while eating.
“How did you know I hadn’t eaten?”
“Just guessed.” She looked up at him, her bright almond-shaped eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
“Professor Zhang and the others have unpredictable schedules. I couldn’t let you go hungry for an interview.”
“Don’t overthink it—I just didn’t want a great poet starving!”
“Then let me starve. Maybe dying of hunger is the best way to be remembered.”
“Stop joking! Eat up.”
“How is that joking? Live in poverty, die a hero!”
“I’m not arguing with you! I’m leaving. Just put the lunchbox behind the door when you’re done.”
Su Manshu walked to the door, hesitated, then turned back to Xu Chengjun, “You don’t have anything else to say?”
“Yes, thank you, Teacher Su.”
“That’s... all?”
Like, how did the interview go, you fool!
“Oh, right. You need to get ready to eat at Green Wave Hall!”
Xu Chengjun flashed a “V” sign at Su Manshu. She stared, stunned.
Eating at Green Wave Hall, and with that tone—doesn’t that mean he passed?
Wonderful!
“Really?”
Actually, ever since Xu Chengjun’s interview began, Su Manshu had been reading in the adjacent room. She read for ages, but her mind was unsettled. She couldn’t explain why.
Maybe she was afraid he wouldn’t get into Fudan?
The more she thought, the messier her mind became.
So she wandered into the corridor—doors in those days weren’t soundproof. She’d just stepped out when she heard Xu Chengjun say, “Only what is truly national can aspire to become global.”
That line echoed in her mind all morning. No wonder he could write “Towards the Light.”
And no wonder he could...
...