Hello everyone, I am Wuxia Guji, welcome to this space.

You are so much like a writer—taking happy photos with every reader, looking into everyone’s eyes with sincerity and saying personalized words (the talent of a sensitive writer). Yet, there is a pervasive sense of sadness and solitude.

I must admit, I am not your reader, fan, or podcast follower. Nevertheless, I attended the book signing for your new work Possession on March 28th (Saturday) in Shanghai. A notification popped up a few days prior, and I thought it would enrich my weekend. Most importantly, no ticket was needed—just the purchase of your new book.

I had stayed up until dawn the night before, struggling with my body. I thought about not going and prioritizing sleep, but luckily, my willpower prevailed, and I managed to get up at 8:30 AM.

I took a taxi to the Meiga L2 Atrium Valley Theatre in Shanghai Hongqiao Qianwan Impression City. I slept for an hour and ten minutes in the cab, arriving bleary-eyed around 11:00 AM. The event was scheduled from 10:00 to 17:30. The talk between Ms. Jiang Fangzhou and stand-up comedian Xiao Lu began at 2:00 PM, followed by the signing.

After buying the book around 11:00 AM, I went to a café to sleep and wait. It was then that I opened the new book and started reading. By the time the event started, I was halfway through. The belly band read:

“I began writing this novel because I couldn’t figure out the inexplicable sense of failure in life. When the novel was finished, I found that I had finally walked toward myself, toward the vanity, weakness, and shame I had escaped for years.”

Despite saying this, perhaps you truly have reached a reconciliation with yourself, or perhaps you are still struggling—just not as intensely as five years ago (since you mentioned this book took five years to write). This book has received some criticism. However, being able to objectify yourself, spend years in long-term self-scrutiny and dissection, and accept your entire self to bring this book to the public—and attending signings in various cities in an era where people are less accustomed to reading paper books—this already requires immense courage. It will inspire others or your long-term followers.

The event opened with a dialogue between the two. To me, it felt a bit unoriginal. On one hand, I had just read the related plots in the book; on the other, I expected to hear something different. But I understand that in public, one must make reasonable, decent, and unambiguous expressions. Meanwhile, the audience behind and beside me laughed frequently.

Ms. Xiao Lu mentioned two segments of the book that she found hilarious: one where the protagonist Noah is taken by her grandmother to see her father’s boss to plead for him and kneels, and another where Noah’s mother bathes her during a period of high school depression.

These were indeed awkward and shameful scenes, but under Xiao Lu’s explanation, they became funny. Perhaps it is her natural talent for viewing things through a lighthearted lens that made you friends.

However, as a writer who has been sensitive since childhood, you likely wrote these parts with a perception of sorrow. Listening to your podcasts and seeing your recent public photos, there is always a lingering sadness. You seem trapped in a certain memory. As the writer Li Juan once said: she fell into a kind of past memory; books let you see the world too early, giving you a full explanation of it and making you think you understood it deeply. These books left marks of ‘pathos,’ ‘sensitivity,’ and ‘solitude’ on your body, yet you only truly began to know the so-called social truths as you grew up.

You love quoting One Hundred Years of Solitude—you’ve cited it twice just between the podcast and the offline meeting. Why? I don’t know. I guess Márquez wrote about ‘family memory,’ ‘time loops,’ and the ‘continuation of solitude.’ Once such things enter a person’s early reading system, they become the default language for understanding the world. Currently, you are looking back and processing a deeply bound relationship with your mother—both of you wishing the other had never entered this world. Thus, the early input of One Hundred Years of Solitude becomes your perception and mode of expression, speaking for the parts you cannot explain.

In the interview, you also mentioned that you especially like people with very strong personalities/egos—egos so large they can obsessively be themselves. I forget which book said:

“The most interesting thing about art is the artist’s personality; if an artist has a unique character, even a thousand flaws can be forgiven.”

I can only paraphrase from a jumbled memory. Perhaps this is because they satisfy the crazy, obsessive, or deficient sides of oneself that remain unfulfilled.

However, such people will indeed hurt you. This might be because your own ego isn’t large, or rather, your early ego has now been internalized into an invisible one, and you long for a visible one. I wonder what you truly felt when your ex-boyfriend said, “You aren’t worthy of speaking to me.” Surely it wasn’t as lighthearted as you made it sound during the talk.

Additionally, you mentioned concerns about AI writing and joined other writers in a silent book protest against AI—a book with no words. However, based on my deep interaction with various AIs (whether for deep thinking or as a professional tool) and the AI usage among those around me (PhD students, mentors, colleagues in research): I don’t believe writing in the AI era is doomed. On the contrary, genuine writing becomes even more important.

At the very beginning of the AI surge, I wondered if human writing was finished. Now, I believe human writing is more vital than ever. If expression is domesticated and taught, it is no longer true expression.

AI cannot produce works that truly represent the author’s individual and social will; it often undergoes massive shifts and cannot sustain itself. Furthermore, with the development of short-form media, people increasingly lack the capacity for deep self-reflection. AI is often an amplifier; people are frequently led astray by it. How a person uses AI, to what extent, and the results of their interaction are decided by themselves. Their own mode of interaction, expression, and thinking is fully collapsed and revealed in the interaction with AI. If one relies on it long-term, it’s just talking in circles with oneself, becoming one’s own follower. So, you need not worry about this.

You are so much like a writer—taking happy photos with every reader, looking into everyone’s eyes with sincerity and saying personalized words. Yet, there is a pervasive sense of sadness and solitude.

You said: “I hope we meet again in the future.” I said: “We will.” I said: “I hope everything goes well for you, Teacher Fangzhou.”

Finally, on the flyleaf of the book, Teacher Fangzhou, you made a mistake in two characters of your message. But it’s okay, I’ve already corrected them myself. I have always found it easy to forgive such small errors.

🎙️ Find Me

• Podcast: 【Right here 就在此地】
• Email: rightheretc@163.com