Chapter 20: Reason Precedes Literature, the Dao Stands Above Confucianism [Requesting Monthly Tickets]

That evening, Fang Xinghe was about to head to the cafeteria to snag the last free meal when Chen Danya forcibly dragged him to the Sprout Organization's farewell dinner.

"You're alone in Shanghai; Auntie must treat you to a good meal. Come on, don't be polite."

Alright, then let's go.

Arriving at the restaurant and scanning the room, he was the only student present; even the senior brothers were absent.

Of course, the teachers weren't all there either; only twelve or thirteen had shown up.

Among them, the only person Fang Xinghe recognized was Yu Hua; that cheeky smiling face was truly familiar.

There were also Wang Meng, Ye Xin, Han Shaogong... names the Z-generation had never even heard of.

Well, actually, he didn't know anyone well enough.

To avoid saying the wrong thing, he turned himself into a wooden fish, making a sound only when struck.

Everyone knew Fang Xinghe's situation and assumed the boy was merely rebellious in style but introverted and shy in personality.

Until Yu Hua praised him: "Fang Xinghe, your writing is so good; how can it be so good? Truly awesome!"

Only then did Fang Xinghe smile for the first time: "Thank you, Teacher Yu Hua. Your writing is also very good; I really like your 'Red Sorghum', 'The Republic of Wine', 'Big Breasts and Wide Hips'..."

The table suddenly went silent; everyone looked utterly bewildered, and only after finally processing it did a roar of laughter erupt.

"Damn! I'll drink you under the table!" Yu Hua moved over, slung an arm around Fang Xinghe's neck, and shouted in a mock-threatening way to scare the kid, "Today, only one of us can survive!"

"Fine."

Fang Xinghe set out two wine glasses and calmly reached for the bottle: "I can drink at most two jin; today's quota is all yours."

"How much?!!!"

Yu Hua's expression visibly panicked; he snatched the bottle and hugged it tightly to his chest: "I was joking! Can't you tell? How could I possibly drink with a child!"

"Hahahaha..."

The whole group laughed, slapping their thighs, and mocked Yu Hua from all sides, but he wasn't offended, rambling on about how a writer dodging alcohol doesn't count as cheating, making the atmosphere incredibly joyful.

After this incident, they formed a new impression of Fang Xinghe—this child was indeed wild; beneath his polite exterior lay a heart that shrank from nothing and feared no trouble.

Thus, everyone began discussing Fang Xinghe's essays again, extending the topic to family life and related issues.

"Actually, it's just a few small things; nothing new."

Fang Xinghe lightly dismissed their sympathy, but accepted any criticism and discussion regarding his writing without hesitation.

It's a writers' gathering, after all; they love grand speeches and love being sharp-tongued.

Most people at today's gathering could stick to the matter at hand; only two or three were acting on their seniority, speaking with an air of superiority.

Fang Xinghe could distinguish good from bad and had the patience to endure.

Until Teacher Wang Meng asked: "Why are you so familiar with Taoist classics?"

Fang Xinghe put down his chopsticks, picked up his utensil, and drew a line on the table in front of him.

This was how he elaborated—

"Personally, I feel that modern Chinese literati, in the end, will most likely return to the Dao, not to Confucianism.

The current limits of Confucianism are either Zhang Zai's 'Four Sentences of Hengqu', which releases influence outwardly, or Wang Yangming's 'Unity of Knowledge and Action', which internally cultivates the body and mind; both are powerful and grand, but they probably won't adapt to future development trends.

In the next century, the world will change very fast, so fast that every nation must strive with all its might to catch up with this wave; the importance of engineering, IT, and scientific research will surge; the future belongs to science students, no longer driven by literati.

Since politics is no longer the stage for literati, and cultivating only oneself is too passive, then our generation will inevitably face a predicament of 'having some influence yet struggling to clearly define one's own position'.

Is literature still important? Yes, but it must rank behind development.

Once a certain strength is developed and spiritual needs begin to be met, will literature definitely surpass film, television, games, and music? That is also doubtful.

Such is the era; what can an individual do?

Therefore, our generation of literati is destined to be impure and destined to face various confusions; at such times, Taoism fits perfectly.

Free and unrestrained, wandering between engagement with the world and withdrawal from it; one can seek truth and pragmatism, pursuing the realization of personal value amidst the red dust, or one can be carefree and speculative, tracing back to the fundamental spirit of the Chinese nation.

Confucianism is uncomfortable, rigid and conventional; Taoism is true to nature, unrestrained and wild. In that freer and more romantic future, reason precedes literature, and the Dao stands above Confucianism; I firmly believe this.

So I love the 'Tao Te Ching' more than the 'Analects'.

I also don't think I will be a traditional Chinese literati; the new generation probably won't have traditional literati anymore."

For a long time after his words ended, a dead silence hung over the table.

Yu Hua's eyes widened; in an extremely awkward posture, he twisted his head to look at Fang Xinghe.

Chen Danya crossed her arms, gently rubbing the goosebumps on her skin.

Teacher Tie Ning and Teacher Shaogong stared at each other, their mouths never closing.

Li Qigang held his glasses in his hand, wiping them back and forth with trembling hands.

Was it deafening and enlightening?

Yes, it was, but not to a degree that made it so convincing as to be irrefutable.

But when the person offering such profound insight was merely a young boy under fourteen years old...

No one could clearly describe the shock within their hearts, even though they were all top-tier writers most skilled at playing with words.

"Little Fang, you..."

Wang Meng smacked his lips but couldn't continue.

"Damn..."

Ye Zhaoyan muttered something; apart from that curse, the rest of the sound was too faint to hear.

And Zhao Changtian, the editor-in-chief of Sprout, thought particularly deeply: You seek the Dao, we cultivate literature; is this an implicit statement that we are not on the same path...

He narrowed his eyes to scrutinize Fang Xinghe but could see nothing.

Until Wang Yali, carefree as ever, ruffled Fang Xinghe's hair and exclaimed enthusiastically: "Worthy of being my brother; you really give your sister face!"

Only then did the atmosphere at the table gradually begin to loosen.

Then, everyone debated the topic of the Dao and Confucianism for about two hours, arguing until their faces turned red and their necks swelled.

Some believed Daoist teachings were indeed excellent, while others insisted the core ideas of Confucianism still held positive significance.

Regarding the development of literature, the overall attitude leaned toward pessimism, yet harbored a nameless hope.

Fang Xinghe did not participate further; he buried his head in eating and drinking. The Huaiyang cuisine today was incredibly fresh, the most delicious meal since his rebirth.

The gathering broke up around 9:30, and everyone left their contact information with Fang Xinghe.

They had a second round to go sing songs.

Yu Hua continued to drag Fang Xinghe, refusing to let go, but he was unwilling to join again, so he took his leave to return and pack his things.

Chen Danya drove him back to the hotel. Before parting, she solemnly instructed: "Persist in learning, persist in writing; do not waste your talent. If you need help with anything, you must call my number."

Fang Xinghe gratefully hugged this good auntie who was like a mother and said softly, "I will. It is a pleasure to meet you, Auntie Chen."

Chen Danya replied, "I am even happier that I was able to discover you through this competition."

Fang Xinghe smiled, waved his hand, turned around, and went upstairs.

Meanwhile, in an extremely fashionable KTV, Wang Meng declared, "Fang Xinghe will surely become an extraordinary person in the future."

"Damn!" Yu Hua rolled a gloomy eye, "He is already extraordinary now, okay!"

Chen Sihe sighed a very long sigh: "He is not from our generation, nor from his peers; he is more future."

Wang Yali's excitement had continued until now and remained high.

She exclaimed loudly, "I am even more looking forward to his novel now. I have a feeling it will be a work completely beyond expectation; not necessarily particularly good, but certainly particularly unique!"

Everyone felt this guess was very plausible; they even made bets, guessing several possible directions.

A group of great authors and top-tier literati discussing a young child so intently was very rare and uncommon.

But those immersed in it did not find it strange, because with some people, as soon as you talk two sentences or spend a few minutes together, that extraordinary aura takes root in the mind, lingering for a long time, hard to forget.