Chapter 0056: So-Called Poetry

A youth who knows not the taste of sorrow, to write new verses forces himself to speak of grief.

A group of young people in their twenties—what insights could they have about life? As the sunshine generation raised under their parents' doting, perhaps their material lives weren't so abundant, but at least they had food and clothing, never worrying about tuition or whether they could eat their fill.

Thus, the poems they wrote, to put it bluntly, were nothing more than lamenting autumn and grieving spring, some interjections, plus ornate diction, piled into a long stretch of catchy text that looked like a decent poem.

Zhao Fusheng sat there, and what kept ringing in his ears were all phrases like “O sea, your vast expanse, like a heroic bosom…” and “O blue sky, your endless beauty…”

He frowned, suppressing the urge to complain, trying to make his expression look as natural as possible.

There was no help for it. As someone with an adult soul, he could hardly bring himself to appreciate these poems that were devoid of substance, even hollow.

Though the people around him thought they were pretty good, for Zhao Fusheng, listening to a group of people moaning without being sick was hardly something that could spark his interest.

With nothing else to do, he simply started drawing comics on the paper, occasionally writing a few characters—those were modern poems from the depths of his memory, inspired by hearing the works of this group.

Li Zhiyuan, on the other hand, was quite cheerful, standing there as the center of attention. It was said that this month he had even published a poem in the city's newspaper, which was considered quite talented.

The sunlight is brilliant,

Even the sea surface is dazzling,

Blinding the eyes.

The wind is biting,

People and trees by the sea are blown flying,

Like the colorful balloons in a child's hand far away.

But the waves lazily ripple on the beach,

Like the languid blues in the earphones.

Through the French window,

Shutting out the biting wind,

So the sunlight warms,

Basking in the warm sun, just right for sleep.

Li Zhiyuan recited his poem loudly, looking smug, enjoying the praise and compliments from those around him.

“No wonder the Daily reporter chose it—it's really good,” someone said loudly.

“Yeah, both the mood and the theme are excellent.”

“It's been a long time since anyone from our poetry society published a poem in the city newspaper.”

“No wonder Li Zhiyuan became vice president—his talent speaks for itself.”

The murmurs around him clearly reached Zhao Fusheng's ears, but his expression remained calm. He nodded lightly, as if acknowledging Li Zhiyuan's work.

In Zhao Fusheng's view, this poem was merely passable.

In this world, many things seem unavoidable, but in reality, they are just excuses people make for themselves.

For instance, what Li Zhiyuan was saying now struck Zhao Fusheng as ridiculous.

“When I traveled with my parents and saw the seaside scenery, I thought then that life should probably be like this…” Li Zhiyuan held forth, but his gaze kept drifting to Mu Qingqing, clearly very pleased with himself.

After all, showing off his talent in front of the girl he liked was also a joyful thing.

“He writes with substance, able to discover the extraordinary in life. It seems Li Zhiyuan has put thought into his observations,” Gu Xueyi commented softly.

She was someone who truly loved literature, so she could better appreciate the flavor in Li Zhiyuan's poem. In her view, his poem was a rare good one.

“You flatter me, senior. Compared to the two poems the president brought back last time, I'm still far behind.” Li Zhiyuan was full of modesty, as if casually glancing at Zhao Fusheng, he suddenly smiled: “Zhao Fusheng, I heard those two poems were written by your neighbor. Does he have any other works?”

Those two poems, which Mu Qingqing had obtained from Hu Xia and brought to the poetry society, were naturally well-liked by everyone. But regarding the author, the group was divided into two camps: some thought Zhao Fusheng was telling the truth, that the poems were indeed written by his neighbor; others believed it was just an excuse.

The evidence for the former was simple: even Zhao Fusheng's roommate Tan Kaixuan didn't know he could write poetry.

The latter, however, felt that if the author hadn't written them, why would Zhao Fusheng remember them so clearly?

Regardless, under Mu Qingqing's insistence, the two poems published in the school magazine still bore Zhao Fusheng's name.

And now, Li Zhiyuan bringing it up was undoubtedly a slap in Zhao Fusheng's face.

Tan Kaixuan frowned, stood up, and was about to retort, but Zhao Fusheng grabbed his arm. Playing with the pen in his hand, Zhao Fusheng stood up, glanced at Li Zhiyuan, and said flatly, “There aren't any more.”

“Oh? Is that ‘there aren't any more,’ or you just didn't remember?” Li Zhiyuan teased with a smile. “Just say you've exhausted your talent—it's fine.”

Zhao Fusheng shrugged and nodded: “You're right, I really didn't remember.”

He paused, glanced at Mu Qingqing, who was whispering something to Gu Xueyi, and said calmly, “And besides, I really don't like writing poetry.”

With that, he patted Tan Kaixuan on the shoulder: “I have something to do, I'm leaving first.”

There was no help for it—he couldn't stand it any longer. With that time, he might as well go back to the dorm and read computer programming books. Staying here, he'd be embarrassed to death sooner or later.

Tan Kaixuan smiled apologetically at Hu Xia and said to Zhao Fusheng, “Don't go, keep me company. I need to go back to the dorm to get something too.”

With that, the two of them simply left.

Watching their backs, the poetry society members looked at each other, not knowing what was going on.

“Huh, look at that, his mind is so narrow. I was just joking, and he actually left.”

Li Zhiyuan gave an awkward laugh, but completely absolved himself.

Everyone's gaze, however, focused on Mu Qingqing, since everyone knew Li Zhiyuan liked Mu Qingqing, and Mu Qingqing held Zhao Fusheng's two poems in high esteem. In their minds, they had already concocted a grand drama of “I love you, but you love him,” and apparently, Zhao Fusheng seemed to be the loser.

Because from start to finish, Mu Qingqing neither stopped Zhao Fusheng from leaving nor spoke up for him when Li Zhiyuan mocked him.

“Alright, alright, don't let irrelevant people affect our mood.” Gu Xueyi spoke slowly. “Let's continue reading poems.”

After all, compared to Zhao Fusheng, the poetry society members were closer to Li Zhiyuan; Zhao Fusheng was an outsider to them.

No one noticed that Hu Xia, who had been silent all along, actually had a very sour expression. After all, she had invited Zhao Fusheng, and he ended up being mocked by Li Zhiyuan. For the first time, she felt that although it seemed peaceful, the poetry society was actually not so wonderful.

Walking to the spot where Zhao Fusheng and Tan Kaixuan had been sitting, Hu Xia stood there, with Li Zhiyuan and the others still talking loudly in her ears. On the table was a piece of paper with a huge pig's head drawn on it, looking quite cute, which made Hu Xia can't help but smile.

The reason was simple: on the pig's face were written the three characters “Tan Kaixuan.”

Clearly, this was drawn by Zhao Fusheng.

Picking up the drawing, she had just glanced at it when she froze.

“The curtain formed by sunlight, those smokes are my soul dancing.”

“The wounds are real, the memories are real, the snow falling in my hands is also real. But when I lie on the steps and death comes, I am not real.”

“Passing stranger, may you eat much and not get fat, be lazy and not ugly, may your deep feelings not be let down, and may someone accompany you for the rest of your life.”

“My love! When you gaze at the stars, I am the stars. I wish to turn into the sky, gazing at you, and the stars are all my eyes.”

“Wandering on the road, the lights of every city warm the lonely traveler.”

“Consciousness storms through, thoughts are trackless trolleys. Not far away, water droplets linger on the heating pipes, falling vertically.”

“The thread of time weaves into a smile, ten thousand horses gallop in the ticking sound, wandering in the dimples far away.”

“The night wanderer in a hat hesitates at the door, hesitates in your eyes.”

“Suddenly sorrow rises from the heart, you say so, leaving the beholder at a loss.”

“When the lights come on, a baby babbles, wisdom comes from the smell of decay.”

“Golden light, golden eyes, golden pupils, there is a golden carp swimming in your eyes.”

Line by line, Hu Xia read softly. Gradually, a crowd gathered around her. At first, they were still chatting and laughing, but in the end, no one could laugh anymore.

“The stars are brilliant, but, parting the mountains, pushing through the forests, sorrow quietly flows out.” As Hu Xia finished the last line, there was a moment of silence in the pavilion.