河南省南陽市:常濤

1988年，那是一個文學(xué)熱情肆意燃燒的年代，仿若空氣中都氤氳著詩意與激情的馥郁因子。彼時，我正在南陽市二中求學(xué)，一顆年輕的心，被文學(xué)的魅力深深攫住，陷入了一種近乎癲狂的執(zhí)迷。在那方校園天地里，每一寸磚瓦似乎都幽幽散發(fā)著文學(xué)的氣息——教學(xué)樓后的老槐樹是我們的"詩歌角"，樹皮裂縫里嵌著不知誰塞的油印詩稿；操場雙杠上常掛著揉皺的速寫本，畫著戴望舒筆下的雨巷；甚至連食堂打飯的窗口，都能聽見有人爭論《紅與黑》里于連的掙扎。每一片樹葉的飄落，都宛如在輕聲訴說著一段故事，那是文學(xué)賦予它們的獨(dú)特語言。

校園文學(xué)社，恰似一顆在校園沃土里破土而出的鮮嫩新芽，充滿了蓬勃的生機(jī)與無盡的活力。它宛如一個充滿魔力的磁場，將我們這些熱愛文學(xué)的靈魂緊緊吸附在一起。我們雖只是些青澀的中學(xué)生，可對文學(xué)的熱愛卻熾熱得如同驕陽，絲毫不輸于那些資深的文人墨客。記得深秋的傍晚，我們常躲在圖書館后的冬青叢里，借著暮色傳閱手抄的《朦朧詩選》，凍得鼻尖通紅卻不愿散去。有人把舒婷的詩句抄在楓葉上，夾在生物課本里；有人在物理作業(yè)背面寫十四行詩，被老師用紅筆批注："牛頓若懂詩，怕是要從棺材里爬出來"。我們滿心渴望在文字構(gòu)建的浩渺世界里盡情暢游，去探尋人性幽微的奧秘，去描繪生活斑斕的色彩，去盡情抒發(fā)內(nèi)心深處那如泉涌般的情感。

當(dāng)時通訊手段極為落后，沒有如今這般便捷的網(wǎng)絡(luò)和即時通訊工具。然而，這并未成為我們與全省各地中學(xué)生文學(xué)愛好者交流的阻礙。書信，那帶著淡淡墨香和指尖溫?zé)岬募垙?，成為了我們傳遞思想與情感的珍貴媒介。每一封往來的信件，都像是一場跨越時空的心靈對話。我至今記得信陽的程冰雪第一封信，信紙邊緣貼著她自制的“郵票”——用蠟筆在煙盒紙上畫的紅楓葉。她在信里說："我把數(shù)學(xué)課的草稿紙攢起來寫詩，被媽媽發(fā)現(xiàn)時，她以為我在寫情書。"更多的時候，我們沉浸于對文學(xué)的探討：周口雷霆會在信中夾著曬干的麥穗，說這是"潁河平原的平仄"；程冰雪總是用紫色墨水寫散文，字里行間飄著薰衣草香味橡皮的味道。那些信件，猶如一個個裝滿文學(xué)寶藏的精致匣子，盛滿了我們對文學(xué)的熱愛，以及對未來那如夢般美好的憧憬。

隨著交流的深入，一個更為大膽而熾熱的想法在我們心中悄然萌生——成立河南省中學(xué)生文聯(lián)。這個想法宛如一顆火種，在我們年輕的心中迅速蔓延，燃成一片燎原之勢。到了當(dāng)年年末，我與南陽的徐道勝、崔鶴、邱華棟、薛霆，周口的雷霆、邵文杰，信陽的程冰雪、鄧紅超等等這些志同道合的伙伴們，開始了緊鑼密鼓的籌備工作。我們在教室后墻畫了張"全省文學(xué)地圖"，用不同顏色的圖釘標(biāo)記各地筆友，每周統(tǒng)計信件數(shù)量時，粉筆劃過黑板的聲音都帶著雀躍。

我們懷著一顆既忐忑又充滿期待的心，踏上了前往鄭州的行程，去拜訪省文聯(lián)主席何南丁。那是一場充滿敬畏與希望的會面。何主席的辦公室飄著茉莉花茶的香氣，他接過我們用作業(yè)本裝訂的"文聯(lián)策劃書"，鏡片后閃過一絲驚訝。當(dāng)他得知我們用伙食費(fèi)湊錢買火車票時，突然從書架上抽出一本《青春之歌》："林道靜他們鬧革命時也年輕，你們鬧文學(xué)，一樣值得敬重。"當(dāng)何主席點(diǎn)頭同意我們在南陽市成立河南省中學(xué)生文聯(lián)時，我們內(nèi)心的喜悅?cè)缤瑳坝颗炫鹊某彼?，瞬間決堤。這不僅僅是一種認(rèn)可，更似一股強(qiáng)大的力量，注入了我們那充滿文學(xué)夢想的心田。

于是，在南陽市文化路1號，我們幾個同學(xué)把節(jié)省下來伙食費(fèi)、零花錢湊起來，租下了一層民宅，將其作為河南省中學(xué)生文聯(lián)的辦公室，辦起了一份油印的《河南省中學(xué)生文學(xué)報》。由雷霆任中學(xué)生文聯(lián)會長，我為秘書長，并刻了一枚比碗底還大的河南省中學(xué)生文聯(lián)印章。那間簡陋的民宅，雖然狹小且質(zhì)樸，卻承載著我們無盡的希望與夢想。墻面被我們用舊報紙糊滿，空白處貼滿從雜志上剪下來的文學(xué)名言；唯一的衣柜被改造成“投稿箱”，每天清晨都能聽見稿件滑落的簌簌聲——這是全省各地中學(xué)生文學(xué)愛好者投來的一顆顆愛心。一邊是沉甸甸的學(xué)業(yè)壓力，一邊是激情澎湃的文學(xué)創(chuàng)作與文聯(lián)事務(wù)，但我們卻沉浸其中，樂此不疲。記得1988年冬夜，我們?yōu)榱伺虐娴谝黄凇逗幽鲜≈袑W(xué)生文學(xué)報》，把課桌拼成長桌，用熱水袋焐著凍僵的鋼筆，直到窗外泛起魚肚白，才發(fā)現(xiàn)崔鶴趴在稿件上睡著了，口水把"卷首語"的字跡涸成矇朧詩行。我們仿若一群勤勞的小蜜蜂，在文學(xué)的繁花盛景中忙碌穿梭。我們積極與全省各中學(xué)取得聯(lián)系，吸納那些同樣對文學(xué)懷揣熱愛的中學(xué)生加入文聯(lián)。每一位新成員的加入，都仿佛為我們這個大家庭注入了一股新鮮而充滿活力的血液。

猶記得我們八個同學(xué)前往周口新站鎮(zhèn)去見雷霆的那次難忘經(jīng)歷。那是一場充滿溫情與歡樂的相聚。我們擠在破舊的長途汽車上，車窗玻璃結(jié)著冰花，崔鶴把臉貼在玻璃上，說這是"天然的詩稿冷藏庫"。汽車三次拋錨，我們徒步走過結(jié)霜的麥田，坐竹排劃過穎河，鞋幫上掛滿冰碴。雷霆的父母極為熱情，他們以農(nóng)村人特有的質(zhì)樸與真誠，張開雙臂迎接我們。盡管那是一個并不富裕的農(nóng)村家庭，但雷家的好客之情卻如暖陽般，讓我們深深感受到家的溫馨。雷媽媽把過年才舍得吃的臘肉蒸了，雷爸爸從地窖里搬出藏了三年的鹿邑大曲。夜幕降臨，當(dāng)那整整九碗牛肉和臘肉端上桌時，我們都被這份慷慨所深深打動——在那個物資匱乏的年代，這無疑是極為奢侈的招待。再加上當(dāng)?shù)氐穆挂卮笄?，那濃郁的酒香瞬間彌漫在整個屋子，氣氛頓時熱烈起來。

酒意漸濃之際，我們的話題也如灌醉了酒愈發(fā)盡興。我們暢談文學(xué)，從《詩經(jīng)》的“蒹葭蒼蒼”談到北島的“卑鄙是卑鄙者的通行證”，從魯迅的《孔乙己》談到馬爾克斯的《百年孤獨(dú)》。雷霆突然從枕頭下掏出一個紅布包，里面是他寫了三個月的小說手稿《潁河敘事》，紙頁間夾著曬干的槐花。"你們看，這章寫的是渡口的老船工，他每次擺渡都要哼豫東調(diào)。"他的眼睛在煤油燈下閃閃發(fā)亮。我們分享著自己對不同文學(xué)流派細(xì)致入微的理解，對某個文學(xué)作品獨(dú)出心裁的感悟。同時，我們也暢聊人生，憧憬著那充滿無限可能的未來。邵文杰說想當(dāng)編輯，“要讓中學(xué)生的文字登上《人民文學(xué)》”；邱華棟說想去武漢大學(xué)，那里有珞珈山的靈氣。鄧紅超說要寫一部中國版的《百年孤獨(dú)》。我們仿佛置身于一個由文學(xué)和夢想編織的幻境之中，幻想著自己成為知名作家的那一天，想象著自己的作品被廣大讀者爭相傳閱、喜愛有加的美妙情景。不知不覺間，我們竟喝光了整整一箱酒。

夜晚留宿雷家，住處略顯局促，四個人擠在一張床上，身體雖有些擁擠，但我們的心中卻滿是對文學(xué)的熱忱和對未來的殷切期待。那一夜，月光透過窗欞在土墻上織出菱形的圖案，崔鶴突然低聲背誦顧城的詩："黑夜給了我黑色的眼睛，我卻用它尋找光明。"我們誰也沒說話，聽著窗外狗吠聲漸遠(yuǎn)，腦海中盡是文學(xué)的成功與美好的憧憬。那些畫面如同絢麗的電影片段，在我們的腦海中不斷放映，每一幀都充滿了對文學(xué)夢想的執(zhí)著追求。

在這個充滿夢想與激情的小團(tuán)體里，崔鶴宛如一個獨(dú)特而神秘的符咒。他寫詩，身上散發(fā)著詩人獨(dú)有的氣質(zhì)與不羈的性格。他蟄居在中學(xué)生文聯(lián)的那間狹小的屋子里，整天閉門不出，如一位隱居鬧市的哲人，沉浸在自己的文學(xué)世界里。他的床底下堆滿空啤酒瓶，窗臺上擺著用罐頭盒種的蒜苗，每次開門都有一股混合著油墨和啤酒的氣息撲面而來。他喜好喝啤酒，然而他的行為卻頗為奇特。他喝完啤酒后，并不將酒瓶清理出去，而是把空啤酒瓶當(dāng)作夜壺。那一個個空啤酒瓶裝滿了他的尿液，臊味在小屋中彌漫開來。但他卻毫不在意，仿佛外界的一切都無法干擾他的文學(xué)創(chuàng)作。有次我推門進(jìn)去，見他對著一堆碎玻璃發(fā)呆，“這是昨天摔的酒瓶，你看這裂紋，像不像《老人與?！防锏聂~骨？”他宣稱自己正在撰寫長篇小說《太陽的哥們》，他就像一個孤獨(dú)的行者，在自己開辟的文學(xué)小徑上，以一種特立獨(dú)行的方式追逐著文學(xué)的夢想。

我們這一群人，都有著一個相同的“標(biāo)簽”——偏科，理科成績不盡人意。但當(dāng)時大學(xué)有一項(xiàng)充滿人文關(guān)懷的政策，文學(xué)創(chuàng)作成績突出的學(xué)生可免試入學(xué)。這一政策如一道希望之光，穿透云層，照進(jìn)了我們那充滿夢想的心靈之窗，讓我們看到了實(shí)現(xiàn)文學(xué)夢想并升入大學(xué)的另一種可能的路徑。為了證明自己，我們白天泡在圖書館查資料，晚上在宿舍打著手電筒寫稿。邱華棟曾在三天內(nèi)寫完三篇短篇小說，眼睛腫得像核桃；邵文杰為了一篇散文，把《現(xiàn)代漢語詞典》翻得卷了邊。

邱華棟，他在我們之中猶如一顆耀眼的明星，熠熠生輝。他的文字充滿了磅礴的力量和深邃的思想，仿佛每一個字都經(jīng)過了千錘百煉，精心雕琢。當(dāng)他收到武漢大學(xué)的特招通知書時，我們在操場上放起了二踢腳，他舉著通知書在月光下轉(zhuǎn)圈，喊著："我要把東湖寫成詩！"。邵文杰，他的文字恰似涓涓細(xì)流，細(xì)膩而富有情感，能夠悄然滋潤讀者的心田。他收到南開大學(xué)免試錄取通知那天，正在給《河南省中學(xué)生文學(xué)報》刻鋼板，油墨蹭到了通知書上，他卻笑著說：“這是文學(xué)的印章?！崩做?，他有著獨(dú)特的文學(xué)見解和別具一格的創(chuàng)作風(fēng)格，收到廈門大學(xué)免試錄取通知書時，他正在潁河邊釣魚，把錄取信封折成紙船放進(jìn)河里，“讓它先漂一會兒，我還沒寫完渡口的故事。”

如今，歲月的車輪悄然駛過，我們都各自踏上了不同的人生旅程。邱華棟已然成為中國作協(xié)副主席，他的文學(xué)成就如同一座巍峨的山峰，令人仰止；邵文杰成為了《文摘》雜志的總編輯，他用自己獨(dú)到的文字品味和卓越的編輯才華，為讀者精心篩選著一篇篇優(yōu)秀的文章；鄧紅超成為了《鄭州晚報》的總編輯，在新聞媒體的廣闊舞臺上發(fā)揮著重要的引領(lǐng)作用；徐道勝成為了《南都晨報》的總編輯，以文字為橋梁，傳遞著信息與思想的火種；雷霆在中海油擔(dān)任部門負(fù)責(zé)人，在自己的崗位上發(fā)光發(fā)熱，貢獻(xiàn)著自己的力量；薛霆成為了南陽監(jiān)獄政委，為社會的穩(wěn)定與和諧發(fā)展添磚加瓦；程冰雪，在文學(xué)的道路上堅(jiān)定地前行，成為了一名作家，繼續(xù)書寫著屬于自己的文學(xué)篇章，她的新書《青春詩札》扉頁寫著“致文化路1號的舊時光”。

然而，在這個曾經(jīng)充滿活力的群體中，崔鶴卻像他筆下那神秘的詩篇一樣，消失在我們的視野之中。他就像一顆劃過文學(xué)天空的流星，留下一道獨(dú)特而短暫的軌跡后，便隱匿于茫茫的未知之中。我們不知道他如今身在何處，也無從知曉他是否還在堅(jiān)持寫作。只記得他離開前留下一封信：“我去尋找太陽的哥們了，勿念?！?/span>

回首那段熱血沸騰的青春歲月，那是一段滿溢著激情、夢想與奮斗的難忘時光。我們的河南省中學(xué)生文聯(lián)，雖然只是我們青春時期一個短暫的夢想舞臺，卻承載了我們太多難以忘懷的回憶與真摯深厚的情感。它是我們對文學(xué)熱愛的鮮明見證，是我們友誼的堅(jiān)固基石，是我們青春歲月里最絢爛奪目的一抹色彩。

在那個文學(xué)狂熱的年代，我們宛如一群無畏的追夢者，全然不顧世俗那異樣的眼光，不畏生活中重重的困難，一心向著文學(xué)的夢想奮勇前行。我們在文字的浩瀚海洋里盡情暢游，在文學(xué)的天空中自由翱翔。盡管如今我們各自散落于不同的領(lǐng)域，但那段共同度過的經(jīng)歷，卻如同夏夜的一顆最亮的星辰，永遠(yuǎn)鑲嵌在我們的心中。

我們的故事，恰似一首悠揚(yáng)的老歌，雖然歲月的侵蝕讓它略顯斑駁，但那動人的旋律卻永遠(yuǎn)在我們心中回蕩。那是屬于我們的青春之歌，是文學(xué)夢想的激昂贊歌。每當(dāng)回憶起那段時光，心中總是不由自主地充滿了溫暖與感動。那些曾經(jīng)一起度過的日日夜夜，那些一起熱烈討論過的文學(xué)作品，那些一起分享過的美好夢想，都已成為我們生命中最彌足珍貴的財富。

也許，在這個快節(jié)奏的現(xiàn)代社會里，文學(xué)已不再像當(dāng)年那般備受狂熱追捧。但我們心中對文學(xué)的那份熱愛，卻宛如一盞永不熄滅的明燈。就像那星星之火，雖然微弱，但只要有一絲微風(fēng)拂過，它便能再次熊熊燃燒，成一片燎原之勢。我們青春歲月里的文學(xué)夢，將永遠(yuǎn)激勵著我們，在生活的漫長道路上不斷砥礪前行，無論遭遇多少艱難險阻，都能堅(jiān)守自己心中那片純凈的文學(xué)凈土。

那是一個特殊而令人懷念的年代，一個充滿希望與夢想的黃金年代。我們在文學(xué)道路上邁出的每一步，都留下了深深的足跡。這些足跡，見證了我們的成長與蛻變，見證了我們的友誼在歲月中的沉淀，也見證了我們對文學(xué)那矢志不渝的執(zhí)著。雖然歲月的風(fēng)霜已悄然改變了我們的容顏，但我們心中的文學(xué)夢，卻永遠(yuǎn)年輕，永遠(yuǎn)充滿活力。

如今，當(dāng)我再次回首那段往昔歲月，心中滿是感慨。我懷念那個彌漫著文學(xué)氣息的校園，懷念那些曾一起為文學(xué)夢想并肩奮斗的伙伴，懷念我們在那間小小的辦公室里度過的每一個充滿激情與熱血的日像一部沒有盡頭的長篇小說，雖然每個人的情節(jié)都朝著不同的方向發(fā)展，但主題卻永遠(yuǎn)是那對文學(xué)的熱愛和對夢想的追求。

去年秋天，我在南陽的舊書攤偶然翻到一份1988年的《河南省中學(xué)生文學(xué)報》，泛黃的頭版上還留著我們當(dāng)年用藍(lán)墨水蓋的"河南省中學(xué)生文聯(lián)"印章。攤主是位戴老花鏡的老人，見我盯著報紙出神，忽然說：“當(dāng)年我兒子也在什么文聯(lián)，天天在家寫些'黑夜給了我黑眼睛'之類的句子。”我心頭一顫，忙問他兒子的名字，老人從褲兜掏出皺巴巴的名片——崔建國，正是崔鶴的本名。

回到家，我顫抖著撥通名片上的電話，聽筒里傳來嘀嘀的電流聲，接著是一個沙啞的男聲：“喂？”那瞬間，1988年的陽光突然涌進(jìn)記憶：他蹲在文聯(lián)小屋的窗臺上，往空啤酒瓶里灌‘自來水’，轉(zhuǎn)頭對我笑：“這是我的靈感收集器?！蔽蚁胝f聲問候，卻聽見電話里對方輕聲說：“我還在寫，《太陽的哥們》快結(jié)尾了。”

Literary Dream in Youthful Years

In 1988, it was an era of rampant literary passion, as if the air was filled with poetic and passionate elements. At that time, I was studying at Nanyang No.2 Middle School. With a young heart, I was deeply captivated by the charm of literature and fell into an almost insane obsession. In that campus world, every inch of brick and tile seemed to exude a literary atmosphere - the old locust tree behind the teaching building was our "poetry corner", and the cracks in the bark were embedded with oil printed poetry manuscripts that we didn't know who had stuffed them in; There are often crumpled sketchbooks hanging on the parallel bars of the playground, depicting the rain alley under Dai Wangshu's pen; Even at the cafeteria dining window, one can hear people arguing about Yu Lian's struggle in 'Red and Black'. The falling of every leaf is like softly telling a story, which is the unique language endowed by literature.

The campus literature club is like a fresh and tender sprout breaking through the fertile soil of the campus, full of vigorous vitality and endless energy. It is like a magical magnetic field that tightly binds us literary lovers together. Although we are just inexperienced middle school students, our love for literature is as passionate as the sun, no less than that of experienced literati. I remember in the late autumn evenings, we often hid in the holly bushes behind the library, reading our handwritten "Selected Poems from the Misty" in the twilight. We were so cold that our noses turned red but we didn't want to disperse. Someone copied Shu Ting's poetry onto maple leaves and inserted it into their biology textbook; Someone was writing a sonnet on the back of a physics assignment, and the teacher annotated it with a red pen: 'If Newton knew poetry, he would probably have crawled out of the coffin.'. We are full of longing to freely explore the vast world constructed by words, to explore the subtle mysteries of human nature, to depict the colorful colors of life, and to express the surging emotions deep in our hearts.

At that time, communication methods were extremely backward, and there were no convenient internet and instant messaging tools like today. However, this has not become an obstacle for us to communicate with literature enthusiasts among middle school students from all over the province. Letters, the paper with a faint ink fragrance and warm fingertips, have become a precious medium for us to convey thoughts and emotions. Every letter exchanged is like a spiritual dialogue that transcends time and space. I still remember Cheng Bingxue's first letter from Xinyang, with her self-made "stamp" on the edge of the letter - a red maple leaf drawn with crayons on cigarette paper. In the letter, she said, "I saved up the draft papers from my math class to write poetry. When my mother found out, she thought I was writing a love letter." More often than not, we were immersed in literary discussions: Zhou Kou Lei Ting would pick up dried wheat ears in the letter and say that it was the "tones of the Yinghe Plain"; Cheng Bingxue always writes prose in purple ink, with the scent of lavender and rubber wafting between the lines. Those letters are like exquisite boxes filled with literary treasures, filled with our love for literature and our dreamlike aspirations for the future.

With the deepening of communication, a bolder and more passionate idea quietly emerged in our hearts - the establishment of the Henan Provincial Middle School Student Federation. This idea is like a spark, rapidly spreading in our young hearts and igniting a prairie fire. At the end of that year, I began intensive preparations with like-minded partners such as Xu Daosheng, Cui He, Qiu Huadong, Xue Ting from Nanyang, Lei Ting and Shao Wenjie from Zhoukou, and Cheng Xuexue and Deng Hongchao from Xinyang. We drew a "Literary Map of the Province" on the back wall of the classroom, marking pen pals in different colors with push pins. When we counted the number of letters every week, the sound of chalk scratching the blackboard was accompanied by excitement.

With a heart full of both anxiety and anticipation, we embarked on our journey to Zhengzhou to visit the Chairman of the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles, He Nanding. That was a meeting full of awe and hope. The aroma of jasmine tea wafted through Chairman He's office as he took the "Wenjian Planning Book" that we had bound with our workbook. A hint of surprise flashed behind the lens. When he learned that we were using food expenses to raise money to buy train tickets, he suddenly pulled out a copy of "Song of Youth" from the bookshelf: "Lin Daojing and the others were young when they were fighting the revolution, and you were just as worthy of respect when you were fighting literature." When Chairman He nodded and agreed to our establishment of the Henan Provincial Federation of Middle School Students' Literature and Art Circles in Nanyang City, our inner joy was like a surging tide, breaking through the embankment in an instant. This is not just a recognition, but more like a powerful force injected into our hearts full of literary dreams.

So, at No. 1 Wenhua Road, Nanyang City, a few of us classmates pooled our saved food expenses and pocket money together, rented a residential building, and used it as the office of the Henan Provincial Middle School Student Literature Federation, starting a mimeographed "Henan Provincial Middle School Student Literature Newspaper". Lei Ting served as the president of the High School Students' Federation of Literary and Art Circles, with me as the secretary-general, and carved a Henan Province High School Students' Federation of Literary and Art Circles seal larger than the bottom of a bowl. That rudimentary residential house, although small and simple, carries our endless hopes and dreams. The wall is covered with old newspapers, and the blank spaces are covered with literary quotes cut from magazines; The only wardrobe has been transformed into a 'submission box', and the rustling sound of manuscripts slipping can be heard every morning - these are the hearts of high school literature enthusiasts from all over the province. On one hand, there is heavy academic pressure, and on the other hand, there is passionate literary creation and literary affairs, but we are immersed in it and never tire of it. I remember on a winter night in 1988, in order to typeset the first issue of the Henan Province High School Student Literature Newspaper, we pieced together our desks into a long table and used a hot water bottle to heat our frozen pens. It wasn't until the window turned pale that we realized Cui He had fallen asleep on the manuscript, his saliva drying up the handwriting of the "opening words" into hazy lines of poetry. We are like a group of diligent little bees, busy shuttling through the flourishing scenery of literature. We actively establish contact with middle schools throughout the province and recruit those who also have a passion for literature to join the Federation of Literary and Art Circles. The addition of each new member seems to inject a fresh and vibrant blood into our big family.

I still remember the unforgettable experience of us eight classmates going to Zhoukou Xinzhan Town to meet Thunder. That was a gathering full of warmth and joy. We crowded on the old long-distance bus, with ice flowers on the window glass. Cui He pressed his face against the glass and said it was a 'natural poetry manuscript refrigerator'. The car broke down three times, and we hiked through the frosty wheat fields, riding bamboo rafts across the Ying River, with our shoes covered in ice debris. Thunder's parents are extremely enthusiastic, welcoming us with their unique simplicity and sincerity as rural people. Although it was not a wealthy rural family, the hospitality of the Lei family was like a warm sun, making us deeply feel the warmth of home. Lei's mother steamed the preserved pork that she was only willing to eat during the Chinese New Year, while Lei's father moved out the Luyi Daqu that had been hidden in the cellar for three years. As night fell, when the entire nine bowls of beef and bacon were served, we were deeply moved by this generosity - in an era of scarce resources, this was undoubtedly an extremely luxurious hospitality. In addition, with the local Luyi Daqu, the rich aroma of wine instantly permeated the entire room, and the atmosphere became lively.

As the alcohol gradually intensifies, our conversation becomes more and more enjoyable as we get drunk. We talk about literature, from the poem "Jiacang Cang" in the Book of Songs to the North Island poem "Despicacy is the passport of the despicable", from Lu Xun's "Kong Yiji" to Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude". Thunder suddenly took out a red cloth bag from under his pillow, which contained his three-month novel manuscript "Yinghe Narrative", with dried locust flowers sandwiched between the pages. You see, this chapter is about an old boatman at the ferry crossing, who always hums the Yudong tune every time he ferries. His eyes sparkle under the kerosene lamp. We share our meticulous understanding of different literary genres and our unique insights into a particular literary work. At the same time, we also chat about life and yearn for a future full of infinite possibilities. Shao Wenjie said he wants to become an editor, 'to make the writings of middle school students appear in' People's Literature '.'; Qiu Huadong said he wants to go to Wuhan University, where there is the spiritual energy of Mount Luojia. Deng Hongchao said he wants to write a Chinese version of 'One Hundred Years of Solitude'. We seem to be immersed in an illusion woven by literature and dreams, imagining the day when we become famous writers, imagining the wonderful scene of our works being widely circulated and loved by readers. Unconsciously, we ended up drinking a whole box of wine.

Staying overnight at the Lei family's place was a bit cramped, with four people squeezed into one bed. Although our bodies were a bit crowded, our hearts were filled with enthusiasm for literature and earnest expectations for the future. That night, the moonlight weaved diamond patterns through the window lattice on the earthen wall. Suddenly, Cui He recited Gu Cheng's poem in a low voice: "The night gave me black eyes, but I used them to search for light." None of us spoke, listening to the barking of dogs outside the window gradually fading away, our minds filled with literary success and beautiful aspirations. Those scenes are like brilliant movie clips, constantly playing in our minds, each frame filled with the persistent pursuit of literary dreams.

In this small group full of dreams and passion, Cui Hewan is like a unique and mysterious talisman. He writes poetry, exuding the unique temperament and unrestrained personality of a poet. He lived in the small room of the high school student literary federation, closed all day long, like a philosopher living in seclusion in the bustling city, immersed in his own literary world. Under his bed were piles of empty beer bottles, and on the windowsill were garlic sprouts grown in cans. Every time he opened the door, a mixture of ink and beer filled the air. He likes to drink beer, but his behavior is quite peculiar. After drinking beer, he didn't clean the bottle, but instead used the empty beer bottle as a night pot. The empty beer bottles were filled with his urine, and the pungent smell permeated the cabin. But he didn't care at all, as if nothing from the outside world could interfere with his literary creation. Once I pushed open the door and saw him staring blankly at a pile of broken glass. 'This is the bottle that fell yesterday. Look at this crack, doesn't it look like a fishbone from' The Old Man and the Sea '?' He declared that he was writing the novel 'Brothers of the Sun'. He was like a lonely traveler, chasing his literary dreams in a unique way on his own literary path.

We all have the same 'label' - being biased towards certain subjects and having unsatisfactory results in science. But at that time, universities had a policy full of humanistic care, allowing students with outstanding literary achievements to be exempted from entrance exams. This policy is like a ray of hope, piercing through the clouds and shining into our dream filled window of the soul, showing us another possible path to realizing our literary dreams and entering university. To prove ourselves, we spend the day in the library searching for information and write articles with flashlights in the dormitory at night. Qiu Huadong once wrote three short stories in three days, and his eyes were swollen like walnuts; Shao Wenjie curled up the Modern Chinese Dictionary for an essay.

Qiu Huadong, he is like a dazzling star among us, shining brightly. His words are full of majestic power and profound thoughts, as if every word has been carefully crafted and refined. When he received the special admission notice from Wuhan University, we kicked him up on the playground. He held the notice and circled in the moonlight, shouting, "I want to write poetry about Donghu Lake. Shao Wenjie's writing is like a gentle stream, delicate and full of emotions, which can quietly nourish the hearts of readers. On the day he received the notice of exemption from the entrance examination for Nankai University, he was carving a steel plate for the "Henan Province High School Student Literature Newspaper" when ink rubbed against the notice. However, he smiled and said, "This is the seal of literature." Thunder, with his unique literary insights and creative style, was fishing by the Ying River when he received the notice of exemption from the entrance examination for Xiamen University. He folded the admission envelope into a paper boat and put it into the river. "Let it float for a while, I haven't finished writing the story of the ferry yet

Now, the wheels of time quietly pass by, and we have all embarked on different journeys in life. Qiu Huadong has become the Vice Chairman of the Chinese Writers Association, and his literary achievements are like a towering mountain peak, awe inspiring; Shao Wenjie became the editor in chief of Digest magazine, using his unique literary taste and outstanding editing talent to carefully select excellent articles for readers; Deng Hongchao became the chief editor of Zhengzhou Evening News, playing an important leading role on the broad stage of news media; Xu Daosheng became the editor in chief of the Southern Metropolis Daily, using words as a bridge to convey information and ideas; Lei Ting serves as the department head at CNOOC, shining brightly in his position and contributing his strength; Xue Ting became the political commissar of Nanyang Prison, contributing to the stability and harmonious development of society; Cheng Bingxue, steadfastly advancing on the path of literature, has become a writer and continues to write her own literary chapters. The title page of her new book "Youth Poetry Collection" reads "To the Old Times of No.1 Wenhua Road".

However, in this once vibrant group, Cui He disappeared from our sight like the mysterious poems he wrote. He is like a shooting star that streaks across the literary sky, leaving behind a unique and brief trajectory before disappearing into the vast unknown. We don't know where he is now, nor do we know if he is still persevering in writing. I only remember leaving a letter before he left: 'I went to search for the sun's buddy, don't worry.'

Looking back on that passionate youth, it was an unforgettable time filled with passion, dreams, and struggles. Our Henan Provincial Middle School Student Federation, although only a brief dream stage in our youth, carries too many unforgettable memories and sincere and profound emotions. It is a vivid witness to our love for literature, a solid cornerstone of our friendship, and the most dazzling color of our youth.

In that era of literary fervor, we were like a group of fearless dream chasers, completely ignoring the strange eyes of the world and the numerous difficulties in life, wholeheartedly striving towards the dream of literature. We swim freely in the vast ocean of words and soar freely in the sky of literature. Although we are now scattered in different fields, the experience we shared together is like the brightest star on a summer night, forever embedded in our hearts.

Our story is like a melodious old song, although the erosion of time has made it slightly mottled, the moving melody will always echo in our hearts. That is our song of youth, a passionate hymn to literary dreams. Whenever I recall that time, my heart is always filled with warmth and emotion involuntarily. The days and nights we once spent together, the literary works we passionately discussed together, and the beautiful dreams we shared together have all become the most precious treasures in our lives.

Perhaps, in this fast-paced modern society, literature is no longer as fervently pursued as it was in the past. But the love for literature in our hearts is like an ever burning beacon. Just like that spark, although faint, as long as a gentle breeze brushes by, it can once again burn fiercely and become a prairie fire. The literary dream of our youth will always inspire us to constantly forge ahead on the long road of life. No matter how many difficulties and obstacles we encounter, we can hold onto the pure literary land in our hearts.

That was a special and nostalgic era, a golden age full of hope and dreams. Every step we take on the path of literature has left deep footprints. These footprints bear witness to our growth and transformation, witness the precipitation of our friendship over time, and also witness our unwavering dedication to literature. Although the wind and frost of time have quietly changed our appearance, the literary dream in our hearts will always be young and full of vitality.

Now, as I look back on those past years, my heart is filled with emotion. I miss the campus filled with literary atmosphere, the partners who once fought side by side for literary dreams, and every passionate and hot blooded day we spent in that small office, like an endless novel. Although everyone's emotions develop in different directions, the theme is always the love for literature and the pursuit of dreams.

Last autumn, I stumbled upon a 1988 edition of the "Henan Province Middle School Student Literature Newspaper" at an old book stall in Nanyang. The yellowed front page still had the "Henan Province Middle School Student Literature Federation" seal that we had stamped with blue ink back then. The vendor is an old man wearing reading glasses. When he saw me staring at the newspaper, he suddenly said, "Back then, my son was also in some literary couplets, writing sentences like 'The dark night gave me black eyes' at home every day." My heart trembled, and I quickly asked his son's name. The old man took out his crumpled business card from his pocket - Cui Jianguo, which was Cui He's real name.

When I got home, I trembled as I dialed the phone on my business card. The sound of an electric current came through the receiver, followed by a hoarse male voice: "Hello?" At that moment, the sunlight of 1988 suddenly surged into my memory: he squatted on the windowsill of the couplet hut, poured 'tap water' into an empty beer bottle, turned to me and smiled, "This is my inspiration collector." I wanted to say hello, but I heard the other person on the phone say softly, "I'm still writing, 'Brothers of the Sun' is coming to an end