修改过程

This world indeed has "facts," but even more meaningful are "knowable facts." Theoretically, the former is greater than the latter; practically, however, without the latter, no matter how great the former is, it's nothing but meaningless and ineffective darkness, almost devoid of significance. To prevent everything that happened from being forgotten, from ultimately vanishing like a wisp of smoke; to combat presbyopia, brain decay, vulgarity, and decadence, Xiao Peng wrote all his classmates from the Class of '77 Chinese Department—names, positions, and experiences—into his online serialized novel. Back then, the sunshine surged, willow buds and acacia petals shrieked, and every avenue leaped and churned. Class monitor Lou Kaifu gave the movie tickets, a gift from a girl who had a crush on him, to Vice Secretary Wang, who was in charge of students, to curry favor; Ma Xiangnan, who later became the chairman of several companies, initially exploited people's sympathy and sense of justice to make a fortune; even Xiao Peng and Lu Yichen's Room 307 was once a revolutionary base filled with passion and indignation. It was the first year of college entrance exams after the ten-year Cultural Revolution, a time when ten million young people, both of eligible age and older, converged at the crossroads of an era, a time of great changes. A telegram sent to a boyfriend in Hong Kong saying "Lao Jiang tears big cloth, Xiao Ping tiger balm, 5710" might be mistaken for espionage; and the pastoral poet, unashamed of his rural origins, whose writings were full of the beauty of the fields, was not stumped by ancient Chinese, but was about to be driven crazy by his own kindness. So, is this a story about the past of the Class of '77 Chinese Department students and their unrecognizable later lives? Xiao Peng waved his hand, no, no, no, this is just the revision process of a novel.