Chapter 9: The Fun at the Tea Party
The opening tea party was a creative idea proposed by Director Xu Gang, who also invited the leaders of the Cultural Association.
Comrade Li Ji, who was originally invited to the meeting and was in charge of the work, unfortunately passed away unexpectedly earlier this month. The cause of death was a sudden heart attack caused by drinking the medicinal wine that his son used to treat arthritis.
Comrade Li Ji first applied to the Ministry of Rites for the restoration of the Institute of Literature, and the Ministry of Rites responded with the comment "Agree to restore the Institute of Literature."
Then Li Ji gave Xu Gang a general direction: "Prepare while running the class, and start with a short-term training class for novel writing."
This short-term training course in novel writing is the fifth session of the Institute of Literature where Lin Weimin and others studied.
It should be said that without Comrade Li Ji, Lin Weimin and 34 other students would not have had this precious opportunity to continue their studies, and the Chinese literary world might not have had such outstanding writers among this group of students.
The students heard this information from the leaders and teachers in the institute in the past two days. Everyone is grateful for the work of this senior.
What a pity, we didn't get to meet each other.
Therefore, the first item of the opening tea party was a moment of silence for Comrade Li Ji.
After a brief moment of silence, the tea party was hosted by Xu Gang.
There were no conventional procedures; leaders and lecturers such as Chen Huangmei, Sha Ting, and Feng Mu took their seats directly.
Comrade Li Ji passed away suddenly. Chen Huangmei was in charge of the work of the Literary Association. He looked around the auditorium and said, "The conditions are a bit shabby. It seems that our support for the Institute of Literature is still not enough!"
Sha Ting smiled and said: "The long road ahead is as hard as iron, but now we can start over again."
Everyone understands that the Institute of Literature has been closed for 23 years, and it is even more difficult to restore its establishment than to establish it. It is already a great achievement to resume operations in a short period of time.
The old comrades chatted for a while, then reached out to grab a few biscuits and started eating. As the director of the Institute of Cultural Research, Xu Gang began to give a brief report, and everyone listened while eating.
Xu Gang's speech was brief, but it sounded like a tear of bitterness. At the end, he invited Chen Huangmei to come on stage and say a few words.
The old comrade didn't beat around the bush and just went up and said a few words.
"It's not easy for the Institute of Literature to resume operations, and it's even harder for the comrades. The students are great, and I hope it will get better and better!"
He walked off the stage right after finishing his speech without any hesitation, which shocked the students in the audience.
After Chen Huangmei stepped down, he said to Xu Gang cheerfully, "Today's tea party is the main venue of your Institute of Literature, so you should give full play to your abilities."
There was no special process or program for the tea party. After the leaders had spoken, Xu Gang began to point out the time for the teachers and students to speak.
When Teacher Tang Yuqiu went on stage to speak as a representative, Lin Weimin took the thermos from her hand.
Today's tea party was hosted and waited upon by the institute's cadres and teachers.
The conditions at the Institute of Literature and Art were very simple. There wasn’t even a teapot. The low-grade tea leaves they bought were poured directly into thermos bottles.
This thing tastes bad to begin with, it smells like tobacco leaves, and when it's put in a thermos, it tastes even worse.
Lin Weimin acted as a waiter and went to the front table to refill the cups of the leaders and teachers. He did not leave after refilling the cups.
He squatted down and took out a book, with a kind face, "Hello, Teacher Wan, I really like your work, can you please sign it for me?"
The kind-looking old man picked up a brand new version of the play "Thunderstorm", which was published by Sichuan People's Publishing House last year.
Lin Weimin glanced at the old comrade guiltily. He knew Wan Jiabao and "Thunderstorm", but unfortunately he had never read the book or the play. He was afraid that the old comrade would ask a question on a whim.
Fortunately, the old comrade was very kind and wrote on it: "I wish you a spring of inspiration. Wan Jiabao, March 31, 1980, at the Institute of Literature."
It's settled.
I got Wan Jiabao's signed version of "Thunderstorm", which will definitely be enough for me to use for a few meals in the future.
"Teacher, pen."
Lin Weimin pointed at the pen in Wan Jiabao's hand. The old comrade smiled and returned the pen to him, then watched Lin Weimin walk towards another teacher.
"Hello, Mr. Wang Meng. I really like your work. Could you please sign it for me?"
Comrade Wan Jiabao, who had just signed his name, didn't know whether to cry or laugh. The young man who had been so handsome just now suddenly looked a little hideous.
Wang Meng looked at the brand new book "Long Live Youth" which was just published by the People's Literature Publishing House last year, and his feelings were similar to Wan Jiabao's.
However, Lin Weimin called Wang Meng teacher sweetly all the time, and since they were of high seniority, it would be awkward not to sign, so Wang Meng just signed his name casually.
Lin Weimin was secretly happy as he got a few more meals.
Just as he was about to run towards Sha Ting with "The Gold Rush", a figure blocked his way.
At this time, Lin Weimin was half-squatting as he came over to pour tea. When he was blocked by someone, he wanted to change direction, but he was blocked again.
"Hey……"
Lin Weimin raised his head and was about to say something like "a good dog doesn't block the road" when he saw that it was the director Xu Gang with a sullen face.
He shrank his head and said, "Hello, Director!"
"You kid..."
Xu Gang spoke in a stern tone and wanted to lose his temper, but when he saw so many seniors, leaders, and colleagues present, he could only suppress his anger.
"Go back to your seat!"
"I'll pour a cup of tea for the teachers." Lin Weimin defended himself weakly.
"With so many teachers, do you need them?"
Xu Gang suppressed the furious Three Corpse Gods and said through gritted teeth.
It is better for the county magistrate to be in charge now. Xu Gang is the boss of the Cultural Research Institute. Lin Weimin didn't dare to show off anymore. He stuffed the thermos into Xu Gang's hand and returned to his seat.
Xu Gang looked at the thermos in his hand, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and exchanged glances with Wan Jiabao, Wang Meng and others.
"Excuse me!"
Several old comrades smiled and shook their heads. Wang Meng said, "Your little friend is an interesting person."
Xu Gang smiled bitterly and glanced at Lin Weimin's back.
interesting?
The thorn is pretty good.
The personnel relations in the Institute of Literature Research are simple. All students are recommended by major literary magazines and periodicals. As the director, Xu Gang is well aware of their personal situations and creative experiences.
Lin Weimin has little creative experience and a rather miserable life story, so he was thought to be a pitiful man.
But when you really get to know him, you can't even feel pity for him.
There is a saying that there must be something hateful about a pitiful person, although it is not suitable to be used in this way. But Xu Gang felt that it was just right to apply it to this kid.
Perhaps Xu Gang himself did not notice that, apart from checking Lin Weimin's files and works, he had only really known Lin Weimin for the second day. The fact that this kid could leave such a deep impression on him can be said to be a manifestation of his ability.
Lin Weimin returned to his table, feeling somewhat regretful, as he still had five or six books in his hand that had not been signed.
Fortunately, he stroked the two signed books in his hands, at least he did not lose money.
(End of this chapter)
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