Tang Xiaolin: The illness of "rural philosopher" Liu Liangcheng

Jiangxi People's Publishing House, 2017

In the contemporary literary world, Liu Liangcheng's prose has always received rave reviews. Mr. Hayashi Xianzhi highly praised the book "Fifty Years of Chinese Prose":

Liu Liangcheng was the last prose writer in the 90s. He has only passed the age of "standing", but he has experienced thousands of years of vicissitudes in rural China. How many crops, people, livestock, fields, wheat, and trees have melted in and out in his eyes, and life and death have faded and declined. He lived far too long. It was the fertile and impoverished land that nurtured his feelings, his philosophy; When he narrates everything with the same thought and language that the land has endowed with it, the prose world immediately discovers that this is an anomaly. His works are like a bare (cheng) piece of soil that suddenly rises, dwarfing the carefully compiled words of many literati and scholars. His works, full of sunshine, are reminiscent of Gauguin's Tahiti, but without that primitive romantic mood, where there is a kind of hardship, a crisis, a kind of destiny of loneliness, helplessness, joy and happiness. And the entire prose world has long been transplanted to a cool and elegant place. In prose about the countryside, Xiao Hong, Lu Yan, Shen Congwen, Sun Li, Wang Zengqi, and Jia Pingwa mostly use their pens to describe stories, characters, and customs, and add some lyrical words. Not intending to do all this, but concentrating on writing a philosophy, a psychological culture, Liu Liangcheng is unique. In him, there is always an entanglement of "life", and this entanglement constitutes philosophy, which determines the content and even the way he writes his prose.

Xinjiang writer Fu Cha Xinchang and scholar Huang Xianghui co-authored this kind of evaluation of Mr. Lin Xianzhi in their book "The Game of Imbalance" are-for-tat. Fu Cha Xinchang pointed out:

In the last year of the 20th century, Liu Liangcheng, a writer of "evening newspapers", appeared in Xinjiang, and he can also be called a new generation of Xinjiang poets who have exhausted Jiang Lang's talents. As far as writing is concerned, although Liu Liangcheng has never shied away from the value of faith, he represents China's 900 million peasants with his personal words, stands on the edge of differences and conflicts in the era of knowledge explosion with his natural words and well-trained and unrestricted thinking, and uses his personal observation, feeling, imagination and reflection experience to cast wild on the scientific system and urban civilization, and to the wise intellectual class, becoming the last watchman and flaunter of the agricultural revolution, rather than what Mr. Kenji Hayashi said" China's last essayist in the 20th century" is just another cultural person in the Chinese literary world who does not uphold basic beliefs and plays tricks on the issue of aesthetic value.

Fu Cha Xinchang systematically sorted out and sharply criticized the ins and outs of Liu Liangcheng's prose:

Liu Liangcheng's works can be roughly divided into two categories: one is the eliminated pastoral poems he wrote in the early days, mainly expressing the sense of distress of returning to the spiritual homeland, and these lyrical poems full of femininity have failed to attract the attention of the poetry world at all. The other category is his prose in the style of "evening newspapers". In the frenzied hybridization of poetry and strange novels, the language of the rural idlers and the daily actions of people with their backs were processed or created into prose in the "evening newspaper style", which was frequently published in various newspapers in Xinjiang, and then collected and published in Xinjiang. In the embarrassing situation of extremely poor sales, he didn't know what tricks he had secretly used, and used Liu Bang's wisdom to govern the world to win Li Rui's favor. His prose is by no means a "classic" that can endure loneliness, and he is by no means a philosophical "village philosopher", but with the negative mentality of a poet who has exhausted his talents, in order to be appreciated, entertained, tacitly understood, and amused, he wrote "The Village Inhabited by Humans and Animals". His narrative language is poetic, and the text bears a striking resemblance to Zhiwei novels, because the details of many of his prose essays are widely circulated among the people, and Liu Liangcheng only plays the role of a masterpiece.

Mr. Lin Xianzhi is a scholar whom I have always respected very much, but in terms of the evaluation of Liu Liangcheng, I am really puzzled. I wonder why Liu Liangcheng's prose is so invincible, conquering so many scholars and literary critics, including Mr. Kenji Hayashi, and receiving such high praise. I prefer to believe that this is a mistake of Mr. Kenji Hayashi in the face of the contemporary literary world where "flowers are becoming more and more charming", and accidentally looked away. Mr. Lin Xianzhi was careless, and he put Liu Liangcheng on the altar:

For the grassland, Zhang Chengzhi, an educated youth, is just an "immigrant" and has no roots. Jia Pingwa's roots were washed away in the muddy pond of Baume & Mercier. Zhang Wei's roots are actually rooted in the surface. Liu Liangcheng is the only one.

There is a Japanese proverb - "the pockmarks in the eyes of the lover become dimples", and if you are overly partial to a person, it is often easy to lose your mind, and even regard the other person's shortcomings as advantages. In my opinion, Liu Liangcheng's "only" is to dare to take the lead in the contemporary literary world like the peasant uprising. No one else dares to coexist with elegance and vulgarity like Liu Liangcheng, regardless of meat and vegetarian, and use the fictional techniques of novels and the production method of "chicken soup for the soul" to falsely beautify the countryside, cunningly concoct prose, and fool readers.

Disguising hypocrisy as true feelings, pretending sensationalism as passion, and dressing himself up as a modern Tao Yuanming with an open heart, no quarrel with the world, no desires, and a simple life, can be said to be Liu Liangcheng's usual techniques and specialties in prose writing. Liu Liangcheng's so-called "rural philosophy" is precisely a kind of "pseudo-philosophy" that is sophisticated and sleek, desperately trying to please readers and fashion. The ubiquitous hypocrisy and hormonal pornography in his articles can be said to be the most obvious birthmarks and typical symptoms of Liu Liangcheng's prose.

Lao Tzu, who was born more than 2,000 years ago, adopted a contemptuous and offensive attitude towards new things and human wisdom in his Tao Te Ching. Lao Tzu not only advocated "absolute sainthood and abandonment of wisdom", but also preached "no worries about learning". In Lao Tzu's eyes, it seems that nothing is pleasing to the eye, just like Mr. Ren Jiyu said, Lao Tzu "regards everyone as despicable and vulgar, and regards himself as superior to anyone else." On the surface, he deliberately said something demeaning about himself, saying that he was incompetent, confused, and incompetent, but in fact, he elevated himself from the opposite side and belittled ordinary people in society."

In today's world, it has long been fashionable to write articles criticizing modern society and civilization with a nameless anger in the belly. Some writers are completely out-and-out pseudo-celebrities. They live in bustling metropolises, go in and out of various vanity fairs, appear in newspapers and television, revel in antiques, calligraphy and paintings, and enjoy the glamorous life of celebrities and the rich, while pretending to lament the high price of rice and the difficulty of being a human being. Liu Liangcheng followed Lao Tzu's ass step by step, treating the dross of Lao Tzu's thought as a rare treasure, and selling only the second-hand goods of the negative thoughts in Lao Tzu's philosophy.

Once, I had a conversation with a writer friend about Liu Liangcheng's prose, and the writer friend told me that he had read Liu Liangcheng's prose at random, and when he read such a description in "City Cow Moo", he immediately felt an unspeakable nausea, and immediately decided that he would never read Liu Liangcheng's prose again. This bizarre description is:

I was passing by the Street Garden when I saw a pile of cow dung steaming in the garden. I can't believe that I can see this kind of thing in the city, how can city people be interested in cow dung? I rummaged into the garden, grabbed a handful and smelled it, it was authentic country cow dung, and a familiar and distant smell came to my nose and penetrated my heart and lungs. Those cows that are unknown in the countryside, and the cattle that are slaughtered after a lifetime of suffering, do they know that their cow dung is transported to the city as a good fertilizer to nourish the flowers and trees in the city. Do they know that there is a city called Urumqi outside the cattle pen?

This kind of goosebump-inducing text is written by a pseudo-peasant dressed as a peasant. What farmer is born to deal with cow dung, and likes the smell of cow dung more than flowers, and can't put it down in his hand, and always doesn't smell enough? This writer friend of mine has lived in the poor mountains since he was a child, pulling pigweed, cutting cow grass, and every day he is either busy going up the mountain to collect firewood, or going down to the field to plant rice, sometimes he is extremely tired, lying on the grass, looking up at the white clouds gently fluttering in the high blue sky, the kind of confusion about life and despair of life that has nowhere to tell, like a tide, often makes his tears flow quietly and irrepressibly. What hardship and loneliness it was! It was this unforgettable memory of a painful childhood that made him firmly germinate a strong idea at a young age that he must study hard, escape from the mountains, and change his fate. Liu Liangcheng's prose that beautifies the life of the poor countryside is like a bunch of gorgeous and charming poppies, which looks really beautiful, but in fact it is a very tempting hallucinogen, which makes those rich people who have lived in the big city for a long time think that today's countryside is full of romantic poetry and picturesqueness, and the peasants can face the singing of birds and flowers when they go out, and eat all the pollution-free green food. This kind of hypocritical work that praises the hard life of the peasants as a fascinating paradise is in the same vein as Yang Shuo's prose about climbing Mount Tai today and looking at the sea market tomorrow. This kind of writing, directed at the after-dinner pastime of those who are well-fed and carefree, is tantamount to stabbing the peasants in the sore spots with an iron rod, or simply pouring salt into their wounds. In Liu Liangcheng's prose, those farmers in the remote corner of Xinjiang seem to live in paradise on earth, and they don't seem to have a place to eat when they are full. They don't have to work at all all day, they just need to carry a shovel and wander around the village, and they can live happily. When he wanted to sleep, "a few shovels would shovel out a flat bed." Dig two shovels of earth and build a good pillow", or "spend an afternoon observing the rat's burrow", or spend a long time obsessed with observing ants that are out and foraging for food. In this poetic depiction of hypocrisy, the hardships and sufferings faced by the real countryside and the Chinese peasants are ruthlessly dissolved by their elaborate beautification of rural life. Compared with Liang Hong's "China in Liangzhuang", which directly faces the current plight of China's rural areas, Liu Liangcheng's Chinese peasants are really troublefree and extremely happy. In "Sleeping with Insects", Liu Liangcheng wrote:

When I fell asleep in the grass, my body became a warm nest for many small bugs. The little creatures of all shapes and shapes got in through my cuffs, necklines, and trouser legs, crawling all over me, biting twice from time to time, and filling their little bellies red. When I had had enough to eat and play, I found a secret place and slept soundly—I didn't know anything about what was going on in my body. (Author's note: Since he doesn't know at all, how did Liu Liangcheng know that his "body has become a warm nest of many small insects"?) That day I was looking all afternoon, hungry and tired. I wanted to lie on the ground for a while and then walk back, but the land was still several miles away from the village, and I forgot to save some strength to go home when I was working. It's summer, and the sounds of insects, frogs, and growing grains in the fields are intertwined like a huge lullaby. As soon as my head touched the ground, I fell asleep, and I didn't know what it was when it was dark, and I didn't notice that the moon was rising and setting. When I woke up, it was another morning, and I was surrounded by all kinds of bugs, and they had already woken up before I did their business. These industrious little beings have left many red and itchy little bumps on my body, proving that they have come. I think they slept as well as I did. (Author's note: Liu Liangcheng "left a lot of red and itchy pimples on his body" didn't feel itchy at all, and was able to sleep beautifully, such a false overseas strange talk, maybe only the children in the kindergarten would believe it) Do these little insects know that there is a big insect like Liu Liangcheng in the world? Some worms die in the twilight of life, while others have a short life span of only a few months or days, and they leave in a hurry before they have time to do anything. There is no time to build a house, create culture and art. I don't have time to think about myself and others. Life is so simple that only happiness remains. We, the wise beings, are looking for pain and trouble for a long time. How happy it should be for a person who listens to the hustle and bustle of the city to lie on the field and listen to the sound of insects. The music of the earth never ends. And who knows how rushed and ephemeral each of these eternal notes is.

Compared with Liu Liangcheng, those migrant workers who poured into the city like a tide and worked hard on various construction sites and factories of all kinds really did not know how to enjoy life, why should they stupidly stay away from their hometown, unlike Liu Liangcheng, lying on the field listening to the sound of insects and enjoying a happy life? There is a story about "why not eat minced meat" in the Book of Jin and Emperor Hui:

During the reign of Emperor Hui of Jin, there was a great famine in the world, and the people had to barely survive by digging grass roots and eating Guanyin soil, and many people were unfortunately starved to death. When the news reached the palace, Emperor Hui of Jin was puzzled and asked the officials who came to report that the people had no food to eat, so why didn't they eat meat porridge?

Liu Liangcheng's "rural philosophy" is actually a modern version of Emperor Jin Hui's "why not eat minced meat". According to Liu Liangcheng's philosophy, thousands of migrant workers in China don't need to go out to work at all, and they don't have houses, so why don't they make beds in the sky, poetically count the stars in the sky when night falls, listen to the sound of frogs and grains growing, and sleep happily with those unknown little insects? How comfortable this fairy-like carefree, simple and happy life should be! We know that Lao Tzu's "Tao Te Ching" is not all the wisdom and essence of life, in fact, it preaches a lot of negative things. Lao Tzu's era, just like Mr. Ren Jiyu said:

"At that time, there was already a country of ten thousand vehicles, a large city with a population of hundreds of thousands, and a highly developed culture, science, and art. Lao Tzu not only looked down on these, but also resolutely opposed them, he believed that culture had brought disasters to people, and it was necessary to return to the era of knotting ropes in the ancient period of ignorance. ”

In many cases, Lao Tzu is talking to himself, and some of his ideas not only fail to help people correctly understand society and life, but even create confusion for people to solve complex practical problems. Lao Tzu preached in the Tao Te Ching:

"If you don't go out of the house, you know the world; Don't peep, see the way of heaven. It is far away, and its knowledge is small. It is known by the saint who does not do it, and is named without seeing it, and is not made by doing it. ”

In Lao Tzu's view, people don't need to learn and practice at all, and the farther they go, the less they know; You don't have to see it to know it; You don't have to struggle, you can succeed. Liu Liangcheng's "rural philosophy" picks up exactly Lao Tzu's tooth wisdom, and absorbs almost all the dross of Lao Tzu's thought. In Liu Liangcheng's view, the development of the city seems to be a scourge, and those who live in the city have all become the objects of his wanton ridicule and sarcasm:

The city is growing taller day by day, but I feel that it is fragile and pale, and I will put some cow dung on the city at the right time, I am a farmer, and I can only do what I can in the peasant way, although to no avail. I will also invite my friends to sit on the piles of cow dung at the right time, they are fed with modern hormones, and the most primitive base fertilizer of human beings is indispensable. A person who does not have this kind of base fertilizer is like a tree without roots, and cannot bear great fruit.

On the one hand, Liu Liangcheng has lived a comfortable life as an urban person early, and on the other hand, he is pretending to miss the cow dung in the countryside, and sells the virtual poetic countryside to the majority of readers. This kind of modern literati show is ruining the reputation of prose, making many of today's prose synonymous with falsehood. In the following text, Liu Liangcheng's hypocrisy and artificiality can be said to be even more incisive and incisive, reaching the peak:

I was known by so many bugs because I slept in the fields. They seemed to like me at once, admiring the taste of my flesh and blood. A few bugs, apparently walking around my face a few times while I was asleep, must have probably recognized my appearance. Now, they have left a few housekeepers on me, and the rest are running around the grassy beach to tell each other, calling on friends, and spreading the news of my discovery to all the people they meet. I even felt thousands of bugs coming at me from all directions. My blood boiled, as if my decades-long dream of becoming famous was about to come true. Who do I know of you, poor little worms, and how I will shake hands with you one by one. Your backs are too narrow to sign my name, and your voices are so weak that they are almost nothing. What can I say to you?

When I turned around, the grass behind me was all blooming. A large piece. It's as if someone told a joke and made a puddle of grass laugh. I was lying on the dirt slope thinking about things. Is it something I think of—strange thoughts in one's head make the grass laugh and laugh in the breeze. Some laughed, and some half-covered their lips and couldn't help laughing. Two near me, one facing me, opened its thin pink petals, as if there was a moaning laughter in my ears. The other turned his head to hide his face, but still couldn't hide his smile. I couldn't help but laugh too. First smiling, then laughing. It was the first time I had laughed out loud alone in the wilderness.

I live too seriously, my dull face seems to have become numb to survival, forgetting to smile at a flower and rejoice and be excited for a new leaf. This is not easy to bloom once, it is rare to grow a leaf, in the wilderness, my smile may be a welcome and encouragement to a little life. It's like green grass that makes me see the bright prospects of my life that are yet to come.

Through such hypocritical + poetic + sensational, similar, and patterned descriptions, we can clearly see how Liu Liangcheng produces prose in his "private workshop". Liu Liangcheng and Yang Shuo's smash hit prose used the same secret recipe. If people in reality are really like the "I" in Liu Liangcheng's prose, holding cow and being intoxicated, messing around with insects all day long, sleeping together, and laughing at those flowers, such people are definitely missing a root in their brains. If happiness is really like Liu Liangcheng's fabrication, if it is so easy to get, the happiest people in the world are either fools, or those disheveled and dirty people on the street called Huazi. Fools have no thoughts and no pain at all; Hanako never worries about tomorrow's breakfast. They can lie in the corner of the wall at any time and bask in the sun leisurely, catch a few lice from the tattered cotton robes on their bodies, pinch them in their hands and play happily. Loving nature and living in harmony with the animals and creatures in nature does not mean that humans and animals are indistinguishable, sleeping with insects all day long, and psychopathically loving animal feces like crazy. We only need to look at Thoreau's description in Walden to see the taste and ideological realm of a writer:

Within a few days of my work there, there were a few light snowfalls, but when I came out on my way home and walked onto the tracks, for the most part, its yellow sand stretched out and shimmered in the misty atmosphere, and the rails were shining in the spring sun, and I heard the larks, the little owls, and the other birds arrive to begin the new year with us. It was a pleasant spring day, and the winter that people felt sad was dissolving like frozen soil, and the life of the dormant was beginning to stretch. One day, when the handle of my axe fell off, I cut down a section of green hickory to make a wedge, and struck it with a stone, and dipped the whole axe in the lake, so that the wedge might grow a little, and then I saw a red chain snake running into the water, and evidently not inconvenienced, lying at the bottom of the lake, for a quarter of an hour, as long as I had been there; Maybe it hasn't fully woken up from its dormant state. It seems to me that human beings remain in their present primitive lower state for the same reason: but if they feel the influence of the spring of all things awaken them, they must rise to a higher and more sublimated life.

Thoreau's prose does not have the artificiality of Liu Liangcheng's prose and the crazy foolish dream, nor does it pollute our eyes with dirty feces and urine, everything happens naturally, and everything is full of the writer's awe and true perception of all life in nature. Thoreau said:

"For every writer, I not only ask him to write about the lives of others as he hears them, but also to write about his own lives sooner or later simply and sincerely, as if he had sent them to his relatives from afar; Because I think that if a person lives sincerely, he must be living in a distant place. ”

In ancient times on the mainland, Tao Yuanming, who loved nature all his life, "has no suitable rhyme, and loves Qiu and Shan", whether it is "picking chrysanthemums under the east fence and seeing Nanshan leisurely", or "staying in the cage for a long time, returning to nature", staying away from officialdom from the heart, in Tao Yuanming's works, the harmonious blend of heart and nature, never need to be like Liu Liangcheng's prose, two or six not five pretentious, sleeping with insects for a while, and sleeping comfortably on the pillow of the grave in the cemetery for a while, and lustful obsessed with women:

"If you sleep on a woman's grave, you sleep on a woman."

I couldn't help but be dumbfounded when I read Liu Liangcheng's psychological confession that he couldn't forget to vent and humiliate those who died. Zhou Zuoren said in "The Literature of People":

For example, the French Maupassant's novel "Life" is a literature about the bestial desires of human beings, while China's "Meat Futon" is inhuman literature. The Russian novel "The Pit" is a literature about the life of a prostitute, while the Chinese "Nine-Tailed Turtle" is inhuman literature. The difference is only in the attitude of the writings. One serious, one game. ”

How can there be such a writer in the world who does not let go of the dead and is furious? The attitude towards women can directly judge the ideological realm and civilization of a writer. Writing as flirting and women as dolls is becoming fashionable for prose writing. Some writers today have regarded prose as a note-hunting note for Flower Street and Willow Lane:

"To remember a woman forever, you must have sex with this woman, and if you want to completely forget a woman, you must also have sex with this woman". (Jia Pingwa's "On the West Road")

The chaos in today's literary world is like a pool of sludge in a mud pond, which always emits a stench that makes people cover their noses in the chaotic and blind coaxing. Many literary critics and scholars are often accustomed to all kinds of strange phenomena in prose creation and turn a blind eye to them. In order to attract the attention of readers, many writers can be said to have used their housekeeping skills and racked their brains in prose writing. In order to seek excitement, ignite the reader's desire, and attract more attention in the literary world, Liu Liangcheng even simply walked directly to the front desk and appeared to say:

"It doesn't matter how many nights my wife and I sleep in, people are in heat all year round, and we don't care about half a night."

Liu Liangcheng publicly declared:

"For decades or so at the age of thirty, all my organs served that sexual organ, dancing or hanging my head for it, trying my best to find women and have sex for it. It has become a baton, and its ups and downs are all about the overall situation. ”

Not only that, Liu Liangcheng also tries his best to show the details of animal copulation at a glance and vividly in front of the reader's eyes. In "One Man's Village", Liu Liangcheng often relish the "erotic" stories of those animals. After reading the following descriptions that are more erotic than erotic novels, I have to be amazed by Liu Liangcheng's unbridled imagination and kung fu in playing "edge ball":

Horses are not like people, they hold their hands and eyes and watch them do things. Mare are also not as docile as women. Horses rely on their feelings, by nature, and it is not uncommon for them to make mistakes. People were anxious from the sidelines, and couldn't help but help the horse. A horse's thing is longer and thicker than a man's arm. The man rolled up his sleeve, held up the mallet, and put it where it should have been, and the horse worked hard and it was done. The man laughed silly twice for the horse. In fact, horses don't need people at all. The greatest problem of man is that he likes to measure other things by his own habits. When people are accustomed to helping themselves, they decide that the horses also need to be supported by their hands, and they cannot enter without help. People will only sweep the horses and meddle in their affairs. According to his many years of observation, if a male donkey does not climb a few times during the estrus period and the female donkey vents, the whole year will be in high spirits, as if life suddenly becomes boring, no matter how good the forage is, it is tasteless, the temper becomes very bad, deliberately pulls the car into the ditch and overturns, does not enter the circle when it is dark, and sometimes angrily holds its baton-like black guy to scare the woman. It seems that it is not a day, and the female donkey is all weird. It seems that the mating of pairs and animals is a very important event. And Feng Si has never married a woman in his life, who is to blame. Blame the donkey. Blame the man who marries the woman. I guess there are a few seasons when Feng Si really envied the donkey, and even longed for himself to become a male donkey immediately, and vent the passion he had accumulated for many years to the female donkey in the village one by one. The black bull to be slaughtered was climbing high, and under it was a young white cow. As we walked along, the bull had just climbed up, and the white cow struggled a few times, as if embarrassed, and turned her head away, but pointed the bright water gate right at us. The bull's slender and slender tithes were corrected several times in one fell swoop, and finally found the right place. The bull is like a patrolman with a black baton on his waist, strolling from the east of the village to the west of the village, and the black baton moves in one fell swoop, except for pounding the air, there is no serious thing to do. In the past, this kind of moaning of joy was only made when animals were mating. The animals moan because they are all males crawling on their mothers' backs. Each could not appreciate the facial expressions of the other, so they had to rely on their voices to convey information: the mother snorted, and the male knew that it was comfortable. As soon as the male sighed, the mother understood that the day was happy. The people in the village also learned to call it like this. I learned it from animals. For many years, although the men and women in the village did that thing face to face, eye to eye, mouth to mouth, and heart to heart, they were all blind in the dark, and they did it day and day. Sometimes a little starlight and moonlight penetrate through the cracks in the windows and doors, but it is also hazy and unclear. I just feel that there is a kang of children in a daze, whether it is a golden boy or a jade girl, or a crooked melon and a cracked date, it is all made out in one way.

is tireless in using sex as a gimmick, which may be the biggest "highlight" of Liu Liangcheng's prose. I can't figure out why the judges of the Lu Xun Literature Award have a soft spot for Liu Liangcheng's "In Xinjiang"? Is it because Liu Liangcheng has made a rare breakthrough in the sexual depiction of animals and has made a special contribution? Compared with "One Man's Village", "In Xinjiang" can be said to be more unscrupulous and intensified in terms of sexual depictions. In the book, the proud ram is like the Ximenqing among animals, and when doing that kind of thing, he also specially selects young, well-haired ewes to climb. Its hot and exciting depiction is no less than that of tertiary films. As:

When the dog saw that the hostess was naked and being held by other men, he was very embarrassed and embarrassed to open his eyes. The donkey was also very embarrassed, and his head was tilted to one side. There is a ladder on the haystack, and when you go up the ladder, you touch (the author's note: "touching" here refers to a person who specializes in stealing color) to let the lover lie on his back and lie on the ladder himself. The sound of the ladder rubbing against the haystack reached the dog's ears, and the dog saw two stacked people climbing the haystack, the top of the man was bare, his legs were between the people below, and the upturned buttocks were reflected in the moonlight, and the middle of his legs was shiny. Go up to the haystack, the ladder is lifted, the top of the haystack is covered with felt, touch and touch, the lover has already been touched by others, and the water is watery. This kind of ripe taste is different from being cooked by yourself, and the beauty of the taste can only be known by touching it.

The 6th Lu Xun Literature Award said in the award speech of "In Xinjiang":

"In Xinjiang" is a long song dedicated to the homeland. In Liu Liangcheng's pen, Xinjiang is the "land and my people" inherent in our lives, and he gazes affectionately at the mountains, rivers and people on the vast land, reality and dreams, today and yesterday, concrete and abstract, in his narrative, flowing with the emotional power that fundamentally connects the people of all ethnic groups. In the unique personal experience, the people, things and things around him have obtained a full and grand life, and the clear and simple language seems to be quiet, but it is deeply cherished and respected.

In my opinion, such an award speech can be said to be the biggest satire and spoof of the Lu Xun Literature Award. The Lu Xun Literature Award vows to emphasize that it is necessary to attach importance to the artistic taste of the work, but "In Xinjiang" is against Mr. Lu Xun everywhere. Mr. Lu Xun has repeatedly advocated that the writer's gaze should be far away from the "three inches below the umbilicus", but in Liu Liangcheng's articles, large-scale sexual descriptions have become the highlight and indispensable "title song". Compared with some writers today who sell pornographic jokes in their prose, Liu Liangcheng can really be said to be a newborn calf who is not afraid of tigers, dares to think and dare to do. I even feel that Liu Liangcheng seems to be determined to write a rare "Animal Love Stories" in ancient and modern China and abroad. In Liu Liangcheng's prose, everything can be related to sex, and there are all kinds of sexual descriptions, which can be said to be everything. As:

I try to walk with my legs spread wide so that more sunlight shines there. That's when I realized the word sunshine. The sun shone on my head and shoulders, as well as on my growing scrotum. Mustard, you satisfy me a little bit at a time, and don't let me go in all. As soon as I was anxious, you screamed in pain. Mustard, how many nights have you just looked up at me and had sex with me as a huge projection like a black bear. On the road behind our house, two dogs were entangled, and the miscellaneous male dog kissed the mouth and neck of our black dog for a while, and stretched out his tongue to lick the black dog's buttocks. I thought they were joking, but after a while, the stuff of the shaggy male dog came out, and it was a long red cut, dripping with water. The black also cocked her tail, and the water gate was shiny.

Liu Liangcheng, who is addicted to sexual fantasies and can't extricate himself, not only envy the huge sexual organs of animals like some writers, but also covet the ram's Yanfu:

When I got in the car, I thought, I want to have dozens of women, and I won't leave a single one behind. Man is the same as a sheep.

Could it be that this is the "full and grand life" overflowing in Liu Liangcheng's prose? Hugging left and right, wives and concubines, big wives, little wives, no one is missing, how refreshing and pleasant such a day is. Could this be the "cherishing and respect" that Liu Liangcheng's prose contains?

As one of China's most prestigious literary awards, the purpose of the Lu Xun Literary Award is to promote the prosperity and development of Chinese literature, and by no means to promote the prosperity of sexual depictions and the development of pornographic literature. After reading Liu Liangcheng's famous and wasted "One Man's Village" and his collection of essays "In Xinjiang", which won the Lu Xun Literature Award, the author has great doubts about the selection criteria of the Lu Xun Literature Award. In terms of the artistry of the writing, "In Xinjiang" does not have much to praise. The book is almost lackluster, except for reflecting the daily life of some Xinjiang people and the customs of ethnic minorities.

is so unbelievable, indulging in sexual deformity play, like engaging in a "sex life exhibition", showing and disseminating indecent sexual intercourse scenes of animals in great detail, such an inexplicable article revealing a bad smell, can actually pass all the way, beat countless Lu Xun Literature Award entries, and pass unanimously in the selection of Lu Xun Literature Award everywhere.

In this regard, we can't help but ask, how can such a work be worthy of literature and Mr. Lu Xun when it wins an award? Let me ask, is this because the artistic interest of the judges has surpassed the times, or is the reader's appreciation ability unable to keep up with the "art appreciation" vision of the judges of the Lu Xun Literature Award? The mystery of this may only be known to God. ■

(Reprinted from "The Cry of Loneliness" Writers Publishing House, 2017, original title: "The Sick Signs of the "Rural Philosopher"", please keep the source for reprinting)