河南省南阳市:常涛

1988年，那是一个文学热情肆意燃烧的年代，仿若空气中都氤氲着诗意与激情的馥郁因子。彼时，我正在南阳市二中求学，一颗年轻的心，被文学的魅力深深攫住，陷入了一种近乎癫狂的执迷。在那方校园天地里，每一寸砖瓦似乎都幽幽散发着文学的气息——教学楼后的老槐树是我们的"诗歌角"，树皮裂缝里嵌着不知谁塞的油印诗稿；操场双杠上常挂着揉皱的速写本，画着戴望舒笔下的雨巷；甚至连食堂打饭的窗口，都能听见有人争论《红与黑》里于连的挣扎。每一片树叶的飘落，都宛如在轻声诉说着一段故事，那是文学赋予它们的独特语言。

校园文学社，恰似一颗在校园沃土里破土而出的鲜嫩新芽，充满了蓬勃的生机与无尽的活力。它宛如一个充满魔力的磁场，将我们这些热爱文学的灵魂紧紧吸附在一起。我们虽只是些青涩的中学生，可对文学的热爱却炽热得如同骄阳，丝毫不输于那些资深的文人墨客。记得深秋的傍晚，我们常躲在图书馆后的冬青丛里，借着暮色传阅手抄的《朦胧诗选》，冻得鼻尖通红却不愿散去。有人把舒婷的诗句抄在枫叶上，夹在生物课本里；有人在物理作业背面写十四行诗，被老师用红笔批注："牛顿若懂诗，怕是要从棺材里爬出来"。我们满心渴望在文字构建的浩渺世界里尽情畅游，去探寻人性幽微的奥秘，去描绘生活斑斓的色彩，去尽情抒发内心深处那如泉涌般的情感。

当时通讯手段极为落后，没有如今这般便捷的网络和即时通讯工具。然而，这并未成为我们与全省各地中学生文学爱好者交流的阻碍。书信，那带着淡淡墨香和指尖温热的纸张，成为了我们传递思想与情感的珍贵媒介。每一封往来的信件，都像是一场跨越时空的心灵对话。我至今记得信阳的程冰雪第一封信，信纸边缘贴着她自制的“邮票”——用蜡笔在烟盒纸上画的红枫叶。她在信里说："我把数学课的草稿纸攒起来写诗，被妈妈发现时，她以为我在写情书。"更多的时候，我们沉浸于对文学的探讨：周口雷霆会在信中夹着晒干的麦穗，说这是"颍河平原的平仄"；程冰雪总是用紫色墨水写散文，字里行间飘着薰衣草香味橡皮的味道。那些信件，犹如一个个装满文学宝藏的精致匣子，盛满了我们对文学的热爱，以及对未来那如梦般美好的憧憬。

随着交流的深入，一个更为大胆而炽热的想法在我们心中悄然萌生——成立河南省中学生文联。这个想法宛如一颗火种，在我们年轻的心中迅速蔓延，燃成一片燎原之势。到了当年年末，我与南阳的徐道胜、崔鹤、邱华栋、薛霆，周口的雷霆、邵文杰，信阳的程冰雪、邓红超等等这些志同道合的伙伴们，开始了紧锣密鼓的筹备工作。我们在教室后墙画了张"全省文学地图"，用不同颜色的图钉标记各地笔友，每周统计信件数量时，粉笔划过黑板的声音都带着雀跃。

我们怀着一颗既忐忑又充满期待的心，踏上了前往郑州的行程，去拜访省文联主席何南丁。那是一场充满敬畏与希望的会面。何主席的办公室飘着茉莉花茶的香气，他接过我们用作业本装订的"文联策划书"，镜片后闪过一丝惊讶。当他得知我们用伙食费凑钱买火车票时，突然从书架上抽出一本《青春之歌》："林道静他们闹革命时也年轻，你们闹文学，一样值得敬重。"当何主席点头同意我们在南阳市成立河南省中学生文联时，我们内心的喜悦如同汹涌澎湃的潮水，瞬间决堤。这不仅仅是一种认可，更似一股强大的力量，注入了我们那充满文学梦想的心田。

于是，在南阳市文化路1号，我们几个同学把节省下来伙食费、零花钱凑起来，租下了一层民宅，将其作为河南省中学生文联的办公室，办起了一份油印的《河南省中学生文学报》。由雷霆任中学生文联会长，我为秘书长，并刻了一枚比碗底还大的河南省中学生文联印章。那间简陋的民宅，虽然狭小且质朴，却承载着我们无尽的希望与梦想。墙面被我们用旧报纸糊满，空白处贴满从杂志上剪下来的文学名言；唯一的衣柜被改造成“投稿箱”，每天清晨都能听见稿件滑落的簌簌声——这是全省各地中学生文学爱好者投来的一颗颗爱心。一边是沉甸甸的学业压力，一边是激情澎湃的文学创作与文联事务，但我们却沉浸其中，乐此不疲。记得1988年冬夜，我们为了排版第一期《河南省中学生文学报》，把课桌拼成长桌，用热水袋焐着冻僵的钢笔，直到窗外泛起鱼肚白，才发现崔鹤趴在稿件上睡着了，口水把"卷首语"的字迹涸成矇胧诗行。我们仿若一群勤劳的小蜜蜂，在文学的繁花盛景中忙碌穿梭。我们积极与全省各中学取得联系，吸纳那些同样对文学怀揣热爱的中学生加入文联。每一位新成员的加入，都仿佛为我们这个大家庭注入了一股新鲜而充满活力的血液。

犹记得我们八个同学前往周口新站镇去见雷霆的那次难忘经历。那是一场充满温情与欢乐的相聚。我们挤在破旧的长途汽车上，车窗玻璃结着冰花，崔鹤把脸贴在玻璃上，说这是"天然的诗稿冷藏库"。汽车三次抛锚，我们徒步走过结霜的麦田，坐竹排划过颖河，鞋帮上挂满冰碴。雷霆的父母极为热情，他们以农村人特有的质朴与真诚，张开双臂迎接我们。尽管那是一个并不富裕的农村家庭，但雷家的好客之情却如暖阳般，让我们深深感受到家的温馨。雷妈妈把过年才舍得吃的腊肉蒸了，雷爸爸从地窖里搬出藏了三年的鹿邑大曲。夜幕降临，当那整整九碗牛肉和腊肉端上桌时，我们都被这份慷慨所深深打动——在那个物资匮乏的年代，这无疑是极为奢侈的招待。再加上当地的鹿邑大曲，那浓郁的酒香瞬间弥漫在整个屋子，气氛顿时热烈起来。

酒意渐浓之际，我们的话题也如灌醉了酒愈发尽兴。我们畅谈文学，从《诗经》的“蒹葭苍苍”谈到北岛的“卑鄙是卑鄙者的通行证”，从鲁迅的《孔乙己》谈到马尔克斯的《百年孤独》。雷霆突然从枕头下掏出一个红布包，里面是他写了三个月的小说手稿《颍河叙事》，纸页间夹着晒干的槐花。"你们看，这章写的是渡口的老船工，他每次摆渡都要哼豫东调。"他的眼睛在煤油灯下闪闪发亮。我们分享着自己对不同文学流派细致入微的理解，对某个文学作品独出心裁的感悟。同时，我们也畅聊人生，憧憬着那充满无限可能的未来。邵文杰说想当编辑，“要让中学生的文字登上《人民文学》”；邱华栋说想去武汉大学，那里有珞珈山的灵气。邓红超说要写一部中国版的《百年孤独》。我们仿佛置身于一个由文学和梦想编织的幻境之中，幻想着自己成为知名作家的那一天，想象着自己的作品被广大读者争相传阅、喜爱有加的美妙情景。不知不觉间，我们竟喝光了整整一箱酒。

夜晚留宿雷家，住处略显局促，四个人挤在一张床上，身体虽有些拥挤，但我们的心中却满是对文学的热忱和对未来的殷切期待。那一夜，月光透过窗棂在土墙上织出菱形的图案，崔鹤突然低声背诵顾城的诗："黑夜给了我黑色的眼睛，我却用它寻找光明。"我们谁也没说话，听着窗外狗吠声渐远，脑海中尽是文学的成功与美好的憧憬。那些画面如同绚丽的电影片段，在我们的脑海中不断放映，每一帧都充满了对文学梦想的执着追求。

在这个充满梦想与激情的小团体里，崔鹤宛如一个独特而神秘的符咒。他写诗，身上散发着诗人独有的气质与不羁的性格。他蛰居在中学生文联的那间狭小的屋子里，整天闭门不出，如一位隐居闹市的哲人，沉浸在自己的文学世界里。他的床底下堆满空啤酒瓶，窗台上摆着用罐头盒种的蒜苗，每次开门都有一股混合着油墨和啤酒的气息扑面而来。他喜好喝啤酒，然而他的行为却颇为奇特。他喝完啤酒后，并不将酒瓶清理出去，而是把空啤酒瓶当作夜壶。那一个个空啤酒瓶装满了他的尿液，臊味在小屋中弥漫开来。但他却毫不在意，仿佛外界的一切都无法干扰他的文学创作。有次我推门进去，见他对着一堆碎玻璃发呆，“这是昨天摔的酒瓶，你看这裂纹，像不像《老人与海》里的鱼骨？”他宣称自己正在撰写长篇小说《太阳的哥们》，他就像一个孤独的行者，在自己开辟的文学小径上，以一种特立独行的方式追逐着文学的梦想。

我们这一群人，都有着一个相同的“标签”——偏科，理科成绩不尽人意。但当时大学有一项充满人文关怀的政策，文学创作成绩突出的学生可免试入学。这一政策如一道希望之光，穿透云层，照进了我们那充满梦想的心灵之窗，让我们看到了实现文学梦想并升入大学的另一种可能的路径。为了证明自己，我们白天泡在图书馆查资料，晚上在宿舍打着手电筒写稿。邱华栋曾在三天内写完三篇短篇小说，眼睛肿得像核桃；邵文杰为了一篇散文，把《现代汉语词典》翻得卷了边。

邱华栋，他在我们之中犹如一颗耀眼的明星，熠熠生辉。他的文字充满了磅礴的力量和深邃的思想，仿佛每一个字都经过了千锤百炼，精心雕琢。当他收到武汉大学的特招通知书时，我们在操场上放起了二踢脚，他举着通知书在月光下转圈，喊着："我要把东湖写成诗！"。邵文杰，他的文字恰似涓涓细流，细腻而富有情感，能够悄然滋润读者的心田。他收到南开大学免试录取通知那天，正在给《河南省中学生文学报》刻钢板，油墨蹭到了通知书上，他却笑着说：“这是文学的印章。”雷霆，他有着独特的文学见解和别具一格的创作风格，收到厦门大学免试录取通知书时，他正在颍河边钓鱼，把录取信封折成纸船放进河里，“让它先漂一会儿，我还没写完渡口的故事。”

如今，岁月的车轮悄然驶过，我们都各自踏上了不同的人生旅程。邱华栋已然成为中国作协副主席，他的文学成就如同一座巍峨的山峰，令人仰止；邵文杰成为了《文摘》杂志的总编辑，他用自己独到的文字品味和卓越的编辑才华，为读者精心筛选着一篇篇优秀的文章；邓红超成为了《郑州晚报》的总编辑，在新闻媒体的广阔舞台上发挥着重要的引领作用；徐道胜成为了《南都晨报》的总编辑，以文字为桥梁，传递着信息与思想的火种；雷霆在中海油担任部门负责人，在自己的岗位上发光发热，贡献着自己的力量；薛霆成为了南阳监狱政委，为社会的稳定与和谐发展添砖加瓦；程冰雪，在文学的道路上坚定地前行，成为了一名作家，继续书写着属于自己的文学篇章，她的新书《青春诗札》扉页写着“致文化路1号的旧时光”。

然而，在这个曾经充满活力的群体中，崔鹤却像他笔下那神秘的诗篇一样，消失在我们的视野之中。他就像一颗划过文学天空的流星，留下一道独特而短暂的轨迹后，便隐匿于茫茫的未知之中。我们不知道他如今身在何处，也无从知晓他是否还在坚持写作。只记得他离开前留下一封信：“我去寻找太阳的哥们了，勿念。”

回首那段热血沸腾的青春岁月，那是一段满溢着激情、梦想与奋斗的难忘时光。我们的河南省中学生文联，虽然只是我们青春时期一个短暂的梦想舞台，却承载了我们太多难以忘怀的回忆与真挚深厚的情感。它是我们对文学热爱的鲜明见证，是我们友谊的坚固基石，是我们青春岁月里最绚烂夺目的一抹色彩。

在那个文学狂热的年代，我们宛如一群无畏的追梦者，全然不顾世俗那异样的眼光，不畏生活中重重的困难，一心向着文学的梦想奋勇前行。我们在文字的浩瀚海洋里尽情畅游，在文学的天空中自由翱翔。尽管如今我们各自散落于不同的领域，但那段共同度过的经历，却如同夏夜的一颗最亮的星辰，永远镶嵌在我们的心中。

我们的故事，恰似一首悠扬的老歌，虽然岁月的侵蚀让它略显斑驳，但那动人的旋律却永远在我们心中回荡。那是属于我们的青春之歌，是文学梦想的激昂赞歌。每当回忆起那段时光，心中总是不由自主地充满了温暖与感动。那些曾经一起度过的日日夜夜，那些一起热烈讨论过的文学作品，那些一起分享过的美好梦想，都已成为我们生命中最弥足珍贵的财富。

也许，在这个快节奏的现代社会里，文学已不再像当年那般备受狂热追捧。但我们心中对文学的那份热爱，却宛如一盏永不熄灭的明灯。就像那星星之火，虽然微弱，但只要有一丝微风拂过，它便能再次熊熊燃烧，成一片燎原之势。我们青春岁月里的文学梦，将永远激励着我们，在生活的漫长道路上不断砥砺前行，无论遭遇多少艰难险阻，都能坚守自己心中那片纯净的文学净土。

那是一个特殊而令人怀念的年代，一个充满希望与梦想的黄金年代。我们在文学道路上迈出的每一步，都留下了深深的足迹。这些足迹，见证了我们的成长与蜕变，见证了我们的友谊在岁月中的沉淀，也见证了我们对文学那矢志不渝的执着。虽然岁月的风霜已悄然改变了我们的容颜，但我们心中的文学梦，却永远年轻，永远充满活力。

如今，当我再次回首那段往昔岁月，心中满是感慨。我怀念那个弥漫着文学气息的校园，怀念那些曾一起为文学梦想并肩奋斗的伙伴，怀念我们在那间小小的办公室里度过的每一个充满激情与热血的日像一部没有尽头的长篇小说，虽然每个人的情节都朝着不同的方向发展，但主题却永远是那对文学的热爱和对梦想的追求。

去年秋天，我在南阳的旧书摊偶然翻到一份1988年的《河南省中学生文学报》，泛黄的头版上还留着我们当年用蓝墨水盖的"河南省中学生文联"印章。摊主是位戴老花镜的老人，见我盯着报纸出神，忽然说：“当年我儿子也在什么文联，天天在家写些'黑夜给了我黑眼睛'之类的句子。”我心头一颤，忙问他儿子的名字，老人从裤兜掏出皱巴巴的名片——崔建国，正是崔鹤的本名。

回到家，我颤抖着拨通名片上的电话，听筒里传来嘀嘀的电流声，接着是一个沙哑的男声：“喂？”那瞬间，1988年的阳光突然涌进记忆：他蹲在文联小屋的窗台上，往空啤酒瓶里灌‘自来水’，转头对我笑：“这是我的灵感收集器。”我想说声问候，却听见电话里对方轻声说：“我还在写，《太阳的哥们》快结尾了。”

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