Several rooms of Haifei Haifei

Haifei has a plump head and loves to imagine. After drinking wine, those imaginations will glow. From then on, he easily fell in love with the amateur job of drinking, probably because alcohol likes to challenge people's emotions.

The last time I saw Haifei was on a warm afternoon at the beginning of the year. It snowed twice before, and this day was the first day when the temperature rose. The warm impression mentioned my feeling schedule particularly strongly. Haifei asked me if I should turn on the air conditioner. I said no, I feel very warm. Then, everyone has a cup of tea, and two people are like two dense pieces of wood, baking warmly in the light of language. This separate office is used to shelter his body, and it is also a place for things outside his body, including many people and things lurking in his future novels. These people will exist here in the form of fragments, and he will wake them up if he is not careful. This is my first time in this room. I know this is just one of countless rooms in Haifei's life, and it is also a point on the straight line between his first room and his last room. The phenomenon of that hair moves in circles like a celestial body, and the radius of that head is the farthest place where light can shine.

Haifei served as a soldier and worked as an economic policeman in a state-owned fertilizer plant after demobilization. That's when we met. At that time, we lived in the same small city called Zhuji, and lived in one place for three days. Like two birds of the same kind, we always wanted to find each other. When participating in the activities of the Federation of Literary and Art Circles, the two birds are also used to sitting in a corner next to each other and whispering. At that time, I was always the second reader of his novels; The first reader is usually a girl named Xu Min, who becomes his wife. His first room in this city was allocated to him by the company, which was more than ten square meters, split in two, like a bird's nest. It's a room where the sun can't shine, especially half a room. There is a simple bookshelf in that half room. The books are piled up in a mess, and there is probably just enough room for writing to put down his arm. I didn't go to that room many times, but his room with a big jump left a deep impression on me. Once we stood at the door of that room, and he told me the dramatic scene of his first attempt to write. That was in the early 1990s. At that time, we were too young, ignorant and fearless to think that all the rooms in the world were open to us.

The room like the Bird's Nest is long gone, and it is occupied by a huge bluff square. Except people, everything that used to grow here is dead, such as enterprises, buildings and vegetation. Only the words that grow in the room like a bird's nest are still alive, in books and periodicals, in two collections of Haifei. Zhao, Luo, Ye Zhou, An Li and others all affirmed these two books in writing to varying degrees.

Later, Haifei worked as an editor and a reporter in an internal newspaper and a public newspaper respectively. At that time, we were not as calm as when we met before. During my three years working in Beijing, I had less chance to meet each other, but I often saw his name in publications for readers all over the world. The word "Haifei", like a trademark running around, is becoming more and more familiar to some readers. A few years ago, he wrote a novella called The Day Trader, which took only two days. He told me the day after he finished writing, that kind of debauchery was just like when his first novel was published. Yu Hua said that after he first published a novel in a periodical, he put the periodical with his name under his pillow and took it out again and again. It is estimated that Haifei is also the same. In my eyes, Haifei's writing is also like a day trader (his name is just right for this kind of behavior). No matter novel or prose, speed and effect are synchronous, like a kind of flying. Speed is his destiny. He has a short story called Flying Fish.

Haifei's birthplace is called Danguifang, which sounds like a poetic room. This is also a room in Haifei. In his novels and essays, he often mentions this dreamy place name with a pious attitude; This place name has always kept a door for him and has become a concern in his heart.

Writing is close to prayer, which is Hai Fei's delicate and strong will behavior, and then diligence-this can be one of the annotations of his speed. He is looking for a speed that he can't control, from one room inside his body to another room within a radius. Haifei is very clear about this speed, and he has never worried about himself negatively. I have never talked with him about this topic in depth. Some people informally say that writing at the speed of Haifei is a kind of utility. It is not necessarily utilitarian to be eager to deny a writer who is relatively pious in his growth period; Encouragement and guidance seem more human.

We all live in the world of mortals, pecking at the dust, humble as ants, and it seems a bit hypocritical to talk about purity. Haifei writes in a room with good office conditions, and still maintains a modest posture. He has many opportunities to leave here, and some big cities have better rooms to invite him to move in. He told me calmly: My home is here. And add a "hehe" after this sentence. He often talks with people "hehe", which is a tolerant attitude, tolerance for life and others, and tolerance for himself.

He is a rational person, and his novels are emotional. My point of view, in our seemingly dull friendship, will be shaken from time to time, and even want to collapse. It's not my fault. Probably the so-called multiplicity, whether it is his people or his novels. The three short stories he wrote, The Carving of Flowers, Spirited Away and Sansheng Sanshi, left me fresh and even confused. When he flew in the text, he was another person, because at that time he was in a room that others could not visit. Writing is so mysterious.

The material space occupied by a person is limited, but Haifei yearns for the inner space. In fact, the bigger the inner space, the more lonely people are. A writer's loneliness has no rest space, just like a wolf in the wilderness, wild and helpless.

"Let's hold it straight until sunset." This is a sentence that Haifei wrote to me on the first day of the new millennium. This letter is very emotional. Haifei didn't send it to me. He sent it to the supplement editors of several daily newspapers and evening newspapers, all of which were published in the headlines of the supplements, on the first day of the new millennium. The sentence in the letter is the frame of the room in his heart.

Nothing is immortal. When a person goes to the west after sunset, his body and the room outside his body will be lost, except for some words. I look forward to Hai Fei's writing.