一、1977年夏：草棚月夜，隨塘河邊的啟蒙
1977年夏天我們到農場西部去捕魚，路遠就在那兒河邊的一間草屋過一夜。一道蘆葦柵欄將屋子隔成兩間，上方空著，女生住東邊，男的住西側。幹了一天活兒，大家躺在舖著草墊的泥地上，一個個頭頂柵欄倒頭就睡。疏朗的月光透過頂棚和柵欄牆的縫隙，探進灰濛濛的屋裡，將斑駁的光影輕輕地灑在地上、被子上和熟睡人們的臉上。
女生這頭六七個人呼吸均勻，靜靜地睡著。那邊兒不久就傳出年長者的呼嚕聲。我躺在緊裡邊兒，頭前柵欄的空隙稍稍大了點兒，有兩三根手指寬。那邊兒緊挨小豁口的右側，躺著本地人阿G，二十來歲，高大健壯，濃眉大眼國字臉，兩頰上帶著農村人特有的健康紅。他在本地年輕人中比較有威信。
不知是怎麼開始的了，那晚我倆趴在那兒，透過那道小縫兒，小聲聊了大半宿。年輕時「好為人師」，一有機會就跟人灌輸「萬般皆下品，唯有讀書高」的「封建思想」，趁著年輕要多讀書之類的車軲轆話。儘管自己也只是個小漁姑，但是他聽得津津有味。直到屋外的天邊泛出魚肚白，我們還意猶未盡。
此後我和阿G之間有了種玄妙的關係，不同於其他人之間的熟悉，像哥們兒或姐們兒那般中性的。我比較喜歡這樣的關係。直到有天傍晚阿G說有事兒找我，跟著他離開宿舍，往西走了八九十米，在河邊一小片樹影婆娑的空地上停了下來。我納悶平時我倆說話都是在公開場合，從來不背人的，想起了母親說過的那話：「好話不背人，背人沒好話。」月光如水，我靜靜地等著他開口……
「我想，我想，我想請請儂幫個忙。」他面帶羞澀，說話期期艾艾，這不像平時大老爺們兒的阿G。「幫啥額忙？啥事體要到搿搭來講啊？」「我想，我想只要用儂額的手就可以……」
我本能地感覺有點兒不對勁兒，鬧不清也不想弄清他到底要我幫他幹什麼，一轉身撒丫子就跑開了。
自打那天起阿G不理我了，不久他就跟一女生好了。說沒點兒妒忌心吧也不全是，心裡多少有點兒不自在。一天在穿堂北側出口處碰到他，我好奇地問：「阿G，儂額問題解決了伐？」他平淡疏遠地點了點頭……
二、兩個月後消息傳來恢復高考了！
草棚夜話過去了一兩個月，突然傳出全國恢復高考的消息。一時間我簡直不敢相信自己的耳朵，在確認了恢復高考不是謠傳後，心一下子就慌了。過去學的本就不多的知識，已經差不多都忘光了。
我趕緊回上海，翻出家中保留著的中學讀過的數理化課本，帶回農場。沒人指導，就自己毫無系統地胡亂複習起來。憑我那薄弱的基礎，加之僅僅一兩個月的複習時間，落榜自然也是預料之中的。後來我參加了1978年的高考，輾轉讀了書。
三、1988年美領館門前勸兵哥別把青春都站了崗
多年後1988年，在上海美領館的門口排隊等開門辦簽證時，也跟那裡的一個當兵的聊天。他走來走去的整理我們的隊伍，隊伍的頭裡有幾個沒人坐的小凳子和五六塊半拉磚頭，那都是替人佔位的擺放的。
這當兵的才19歲，我勸他要多讀書，不要把青春大好時光浪費在站崗上，他被我說得兩眼發光。
四、1992年在美國超市勸打工的美國小哥要多讀書出去見見世面
1992年4月30號開始，在美國一家超市打工，一邊等我的公民身份。超市裡有一個高中生，長得挺帥氣的，天天上貨架幹得還挺認真「充實」。我又發了「善心」，這麼好的小哥，別被這「充實」「滿足」給耽誤了，便又「開導」起他來：要努力讀書走出家門，去闖蕩世界，外面的世界很精彩！他也被我「煽動」得倆眼放光、心潮澎湃、思緒飛揚。
五、我怎麼就執著於「唯有讀書高」的呢？
但怎麼我就那麼執著於「萬般皆下品，唯有讀書高」呢？這都是因為早些年大約是1974年間，讀了不少「毒草」禁書搞的。那些書開闊了我的視野，極大地豐富了我的內心世界。那一陣子，我每天抱著書看，深深覺得裡面的世界無比精彩，那是一种廢寢忘食的狀態，捨不得將書放下，完全不想回到這個枯燥的現實中來。這是那种人們所擔心的被「精神污染」了？
那時正值世界觀形成期，我就暗自下決心：「若要洞房花燭夜，必須金榜題名時！」
看了「毒草」禁書後的1978年5月，那些「毒草」禁書才被「平反」重新再版。那又是一場精神上的饕餮狂歡，是靈魂久旱逢甘霖般的徹底釋放！
多年後想想，也許我不該「勸」他們的。人各有命，本來他們都「安居樂業」，但被我一通勸，心動了，平靜的心湖泛起了漣漪。但是如果沒有行動，或是行動不到位，他們的人生會有不順，中心就會有陰影，那我的罪過就大了。唉！古書上說「禍從口出」啊！
但不管怎麼說，從我個人的經歷來看，對於輸在起跑線上的人來說，讀書真的是唯一的出路。
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The Reed Partition of a Forgotten Night, and the Lifelong Echoes of My Whispered Guidance
Part I: Summer of 1977 — A Moonlight Night in the Thatched Hut and the Riverbank Enlightenment
In the summer of 1977, we traveled to the western sector of the state farm to fish. Because the distance was far, we spent the night inside a rustic thatched grass hut nestled right by the riverbank. A rudimentary reed fence divided the hut into two rooms, leaving the upper space entirely open; the girls occupied the eastern side, while the men stayed on the western side. Having endured a grueling day of hard labor, everyone lay flat upon the dirt floor lined with straw mats, falling fast asleep with our heads directly aligned against the reed partition. The sparse, lingering moonlight filtered through the narrow gaps in the thatched roof and the reed wall, probing into the hazy gray interior of the hut and casting dappled shadows softly onto the ground, the blankets, and the faces of the soundly sleeping youths.
On our side, six or seven girls breathed in unison, sleeping in utter serenity. Before long, the deep snoring of the elders drifted over from the other side. I lay on the absolute inner corner of the floor, where the gap in the reed partition right in front of my head happened to be slightly larger—about the width of two or three fingers. Lying directly adjacent to that little opening on the right side was a local village youth named Ah G. He was in his early twenties, remarkably tall and robust, with thick eyebrows, large piercing eyes, and a square-jawed face bearing that healthy, vibrant flush unique to rural country folk. He held considerable prestige and authority among the local youths.
I cannot recall exactly how it all began, but that night, the two of us lay prone there, whispering to each other through that narrow slit for the better part of the night. In my youth, I "loved to play the teacher," seizing every possible opportunity to drill people with the old traditional ideology that "all pursuits are base, only learning is sublime," spinning endless, repetitive arguments about how young people must devour more books. Even though I was merely a young fisher-girl myself, he listened with absolute, rapt fascination. By the time the far horizon outside began to pale into the color of a fish's belly, we still felt as though our conversation had barely scratched the surface.
From that momentous night forward, a subtle, mysterious connection formed between Ah G and me—different from the casual familiarity shared with the others, yet entirely neutral, much like a bond between close buddies. I rather preferred a relationship like that. Until one evening, Ah G mentioned he needed to talk to me about something. I followed him out of the dormitory, heading west for about eighty or ninety meters until we stopped in a small clearing where the tree shadows danced gracefully beside the riverbank. I found it quite peculiar, as the two of us usually conversed strictly in public spaces and never behind anyone's back. My mother's old warning instantly flashed through my mind: "Good words are never hidden behind closed doors; what is hidden behind closed doors is never a good word." Under the water-like moonlight, I stood quietly, waiting for him to speak...
"I was... I was wondering... if you could do me a favor," he stuttered, his face flushed with intense shyness. This was entirely unlike the usually bold, masculine Ah G. "What kind of favor? And what on earth brings us all the way out here to talk about it?" "I was thinking... I was thinking as long as I could just use your hand, that would be..."
My instincts instantly screamed that something was terribly wrong. Unable to comprehend—and having absolutely no desire to figure out—what on earth he actually wanted my hand to help him do, I spun around on my heel, kicked up my legs, and bolted away as fast as my feet could carry me.
From that very day on, Ah G completely ignored me, and shortly afterward, he struck up a romance with another girl in our sector. To claim I didn't feel a single shred of jealousy wouldn't be entirely true; my heart felt a little unsettled and uncomfortable over it. One day, I ran right into him near the northern exit of the hallway compound. Driven by intense curiosity, I asked him flatly: "Ah G, did your problem ever get resolved?" He gave a cold, distant nod, and simply walked away...
Part II: Two Months Later — The Thunderclap of the Gaokao Resumption
Barely a month or two had slipped past since that whispered midnight conversation in the thatched hut when a sudden, monumental rumor swept across the nation: the National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao) was officially being resumed! For a fleeting moment, I simply could not believe my own ears. The very instant it was confirmed that the resumption of the Gaokao was not a mere rumor, a wave of sheer panic instantly gripped my heart. What little knowledge I had managed to acquire in school years ago had already been almost entirely erased by time.
I rushed back to Shanghai without a single second of delay, digging through our family home to salvage the old mathematics, physics, and chemistry textbooks I had studied during junior high and high school, and brought them straight back to the farm. With absolutely no one to guide or tutor me, I began blindly, haphazardly cramming and reviewing the material without a single shred of system or order. Given my incredibly fragile foundation, coupled with a frantic preparation window of a mere one or two months, failing that initial exam was, naturally, entirely to be expected. Yet, I refused to give up; I threw myself back into the arena for the 1978 Gaokao, successfully passed, and scrambled my way into university to pursue my education.
Part III: 1988 — Advising a Soldier Outside the U.S. Consulate Not to Waste His Youth on Guard Duty
Over a decade later, in 1988, while lining up in a packed crowd outside the gates of the U.S. Consulate General in Shanghai, waiting for the doors to open for visa processing, I struck up a casual conversation with a young soldier on duty. He was pacing back and forth, organizing our sprawling line. Placed right at the very front of the queue were several vacant small stools and five or six broken half-bricks—all left there by people to desperately hold spots in line.
This soldier boy was a mere nineteen years old. I looked at him and gently urged him that he must study more, warning him not to waste the absolute golden years of his prime youth simply standing guard. As my words sank in, his two eyes suddenly ignited with a brilliant, gleaming light.
Part IV: 1992 — Schooling an American Boy in a U.S. Supermarket to Pursue Education and See the World
Beginning on April 30, 1992, I found myself working a job inside an American supermarket, earning a living while biding my time waiting for my permanent citizenship status. Working alongside me in the grocery store was a high school boy—remarkably handsome—who spent his days stocking shelves with intense, genuine earnestness, looking thoroughly "fulfilled" and content. Once again, a wave of good-natured benevolence washed through my core; I thought to myself that such a bright, wonderful young man shouldn't let his potential be quietly buried by this superficial sense of daily "fulfillment" and routine satisfaction.
And so, I began to "enlighten" and guide him as well: I told him he must work hard at his studies, break out of his comfortable front door, and go venture out into the vast world—because the world out there is magnificently splendid! My words thoroughly stirred his soul; he was so swept up by my instigation that his eyes lit up with a brilliant fire, his heart swelled with surging emotion, and his thoughts soared far beyond the grocery aisles.
Part V: Why the Obsession with "Learning Over All Else"?
But why on earth was I so intensely, stubbornly obsessed with the notion that "all pursuits are base, only learning is sublime"? It was entirely due to the fact that during those earlier years, right around 1974, I had devoured a vast collection of "poisonous weed" forbidden books. Those texts expanded the boundaries of my vision and immensely enriched the landscape of my inner spiritual world. During that slice of time, I would clutch those books every single day, completely lost in them, feeling with every fiber of my being that the worlds contained within those pages were magnificently splendid. It was a state of complete self-forgetfulness—forgetting to eat, forgetting to sleep, utterly reluctant to ever set a book down. I simply had absolutely no desire to return to the painfully dry and monotonous reality around me. Was this precisely the kind of "spiritual pollution" that people back then were so terrified of?
At that time, right when my core worldview was actively crystallizing, I quietly made a fierce, secret vow to myself: "Should I ever wish for the joy of a wedding night, it must be preceded by my name breaking onto the golden imperial honors list!"
In May of 1978, years after I had devoured those forbidden texts, those very same "poisonous weeds" were finally "rehabilitated" and republished across the nation. That marked yet another grand feast of spiritual indulgence—a total, unbridled release of the soul, much like a severe, lifelong drought suddenly blessed by a torrential downpour!
Looking back many years later, however, a part of me wonders if perhaps I shouldn't have "schooled" and advised those young men. Everyone is governed by their own individual fate. Originally, they were all entirely content, living peaceful and settled lives. Yet, under the influence of my impassioned guidance, their hearts were stirred, and ripples were cast across the calm waters of their inner sanctuaries. If that inspiration wasn't paired with action—or if their actions ultimately fell short—their lives might have encountered friction, leaving behind a permanent shadow in their hearts. If so, my transgression would be monumental indeed. Ah! Just as the classical texts proclaim: "Misfortune exits from the mouth!"
Yet, no matter how one looks at it, judging strictly from the trajectory of my own personal life, for those who start the race of life at a severe disadvantage, education truly stands as the one and only way out.
Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.
第三百五十篇
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