Reborn on the Happy Hall + Spoiler

"Yeah." Zhao Xin couldn't help but look at Liu Yusheng's house. The living room was so small that there was only room for a coffee table and a stack of short plastic benches.Along the base of the wall, there are piles of cooking oil and packaged disposable tableware.

"Uh, that's right, my stepfather runs a snack bar." Liu Yusheng was a little embarrassed, "There are a lot of these things at home."

Zhao Xin looked back, "Which one is your room?"

"This way."

Liu Yusheng's room was smaller than the living room. Opposite the single bed was a desk, and he could sit at the desk after walking two steps from the bed.There is no bookcase, and there are two sorting boxes next to the desk, which are full of books.On the other side of the desk was a cardboard box. Zhao Xin suddenly realized that it was a snack he sent to Liu Yusheng.

Haven't finished eating after so long?

On the desk are a laptop, half a glass of water, an opened packet of biscuits, a pen, and a notebook.It can be seen that the laptop has been used for a long time, and the letters on the keyboard are not very clear.

Liu Yusheng smiled: "My room...is too messy."

The windows of the room are also small, completely incomparable with the floor-to-ceiling windows of Zhao Xin's house.Looking out from Zhao Xin's position, he could only see gray and black residential buildings and the narrow sky.

"Hey, come on, you sit first." Liu Yusheng pushed the chair to Zhao Xin's side, "I'll get you a glass of water." Liu Yusheng walked out of the room in a panic. He really didn't expect that Zhao Xin would come to him—what was he Even without preparation, Zhao Xin bumped into the most embarrassing side.He felt that Zhao Xin must have never seen such a small room, and the bathroom in Zhao Xin's house was much larger than his room.Zhao Xin's house is not as narrow, crowded, and old as his house. Zhao Xin's house is very spacious and bright, and the wooden bookcases reflect a faint luster, so good.

Liu Yusheng handed the water to Zhao Xin, both embarrassed and embarrassed because the two had quarreled on the phone.But he was faintly happy because Zhao Xin came to him unexpectedly.

Liu Yusheng was sitting on the bed, Zhao Xin was sitting on the chair, the two were very close.

"Yu student," Zhao Xin asked, "Have you been at home since you dropped out of school?"

"Well, before I started writing, I also thought about going out to work, but my mother wouldn't let me," Liu Yusheng said in a low voice, "She suspects that I'm gay, and she's afraid she won't be able to control me if I go out."

"You said, she often scolds you?"

"...It was like this two years ago. After I started making money, I got better." Liu Yusheng secretly regretted his impulsiveness. "Actually, it's nothing. I dropped out of school. It's normal for her to scold me."

For four years, Zhao Xin couldn't imagine that Liu Yusheng spent four years in such a small room. He was the biggest victim, but he couldn't clarify and explain for himself. He could only silently bear his mother's accusations, disappointment and suspicion.

Zhao Xin suddenly understood what Liu Yusheng said, "Even if it's a fantasy, at least it can comfort me."It's not that Liu Yusheng is weak, but that he is in too much pain and needs comfort too much.

Zhao Xin moved his lips. He wanted to apologize for what he said before, but he also felt that if he apologized, it would be tantamount to admitting Liu Yusheng's dire situation. He also didn't want to deny Liu Yusheng's writing like this.Although he really looked down on that kind of writing, but... But this is Liu Yusheng after all.

"Zhao Xin," Liu Yusheng supported the bed with both hands, looked at Zhao Xin, and then turned his head away, "I was too anxious at the time, so I hung up the phone... I thought a lot about it later, I might be wrong, but... but Can I talk to you?"

Zhao Xin nodded: "You say."

"That's right, about me..." Liu Yusheng paused, lowered his head, with a very unconfident expression on his face, "The things I wrote are silly and sweet, I know, many people criticize this kind of... If you can only It sucks to give people comfort and happiness, right? Actually, I understand it too, so I, how should I put it, I have low self-esteem, especially in front of you, and I feel like I’m writing terrible stuff while I’m writing.

"But this kind of bad stuff brings me some comfort, and sometimes I even feel that I can't go on without them. After I hung up the phone, I kept thinking about it, and finally I came to the conclusion that even if they It's too bad they're not worthless or meaningless. Because...you heard that saying? Happy people are always alike, and unhappy people are unhappy in their own way. I think it means, Happiness does not need to be understood. If a person is very happy, then he does not need others to understand why he is happy, nor does he need others to understand the feeling of happiness. Only when a person is unhappy and painful, then he needs When others understand his feelings, he will need the empathy of others, so there are all kinds of misfortunes and pains in this world, and he seeks understanding."

Liu Yusheng pursed his lips and continued: "Literature is the way for the unfortunate and suffering people to seek understanding. The reason why great works are great is that they show the common pain or plight of many people. But like The ones I wrote, they don't show any pain and distress, what's the point of them? I think the point of them is... to be seen by someone who is in pain. Like, 'Red Candle in the Dark' is joyful, but This kind of happiness is based on the fact that the poet is already old, and he has "the temples are already stars", so when he recalls this kind of happiness, he will cherish it, or yearn for it, or even suffer more. Happy people can't feel it The beauty of happiness, only the painful people can feel the beauty of happiness, happiness itself is not the meaning, but the happiness in the eyes of the painful people is the meaning. So if my silly white sweetness is seen by the painful people, even if they know that It’s just a kind of fantasy, yín, but because of this, they regret the happiness they once felt, or they yearn for this kind of happiness because of this, or even if they suffer more pain, this is meaningful.”

Zhao Xin listened to Liu Yusheng's words in a daze. He didn't react until Liu Yusheng finished speaking.

Liu Yu called him timidly: "Zhao Xin?"

Zhao Xin opened his eyes wide suddenly, suddenly feeling enlightened.Is that so?Those that he has always regarded as opium to provide spiritual pleasure are not just "happiness", nor are they just "comfort".When "happiness" falls in the eyes of the suffering person, it may be mourning, nostalgia, lack of access, and deeper pain.

"So in the end there is still pain, and pleasure is also pain, Yusheng, you mean that literature—or life—is like this?"

"……Um."

Zhao Xin couldn't help holding Liu Yusheng's hand lightly. At this moment, he had a premonition that he and Liu Yusheng, the two authors, were about to discover some kind of secret.Since the essence of life is pain, which cannot be obtained, cannot be let go, cannot be forgotten, cannot escape, and is the ultimate inevitable separation and death——

"Since the essence of life is pain, why do we need literature to make us suffer more?" Since literature cannot give people pure happiness in the end, why do those authors and readers keep sacrificing their lives to literature for punishment? The self-confidence of "I am born to be useful" is happy, but it becomes pain in the eyes of the mediocre; the prosperity of "seeing all the flowers in Chang'an in one day" is happy, but it becomes pain in the eyes of the frustrated; The bead curtain is not as good as "The youth is happy, but it becomes pain in the eyes of the old... It turns out that every line of happy words has a footnote of pain.

Liu Yusheng thought for a while, and replied: "Because we need to be understood, and we also want to understand the pain of others, even...even if understanding itself is useless, right? This is a kind of untimely tenderness. I think, people who write books, People who study must rely on such a kind of tenderness." Because of tenderness, there is pity, and pity is the beginning of all compassion, understanding, and sympathy.The person who wrote the book and the person who read the book meet because of their respective tenderness, and then one kind of pain sees another kind of pain, one kind of pain soothes another kind of pain, and one kind of pain understands another kind of pain. It turns out that writing itself is significance.

Zhao Xin was silent for a long, long time.Until his and Liu Yusheng's palms were sticky and wet with sweat, he raised Liu Yusheng's hand, and solemnly kissed the back of his hand.

At this moment, Zhao Xin felt saved, because he already believed that he would keep writing.Even if he doesn't write danmei, he will write other things, even if he doesn't write, he will write prose and poetry, even if he loses the right to write, then even if he writes a diary that can only be hidden in a drawer, he will still write.Because he is sure, he will always have tenderness for this world, and he will always have tenderness for the boy in front of him.

Liu Yusheng's face turned red, and Zhao Xin said seriously, "I don't think I'm good enough for you."

Liu Yusheng shook his head: "Impossible," he rarely said firmly, "You are the best here, the best in every aspect."