In Shanghai after the National Day holiday, the sweltering 30-degree Celsius heat made one forget the season. I met Guo Yujie in the Youth Magazine office. The last time we met was three months ago, when she had just submitted the manuscript for her first collection of short stories, "Weaving the Storm."

Four years ago, after leaving the non-fiction platform Noon, Guo Yujie began writing novels full-time. Compared to Shanghai's chaotic weather, her daily routine has an inherent order: she writes in the morning, goes to a coffee shop without her phone, and buys a coffee and sandwich with cash; she replies to messages and handles business in the afternoon.

Over the past four years, she wrote and discarded many novels, ultimately selecting five to include in *Weaving the Storm*: five stories of contemporary women about uneasy marriages, ambiguous childhoods, and unfinished youth. Compared to her non-fiction predecessor, *Voices of the Masses*, this book is more personal and freer. And her writing remains as described in the popular Douban review of *Voices of the Masses*—"sensitive but not self-indulgent." This is her writing philosophy, and also what she taught me during my editing work: writing should be concise, and one should have others in mind.

When I worked with her in the past, I often felt "seen" by her. This ability to "see" probably stems from her emphasis on "relationships." Guo Yujie's social style is old-fashioned; she dislikes conference calls and believes more in face-to-face communication. "Relationships" are not only the central theme of "Weaving the Storm," but also the starting point of this dialogue.

Our generation grew up in an era of both individualism and economic boom, once firmly believing that "becoming oneself" was the most important thing. That was a rebellion against collectivism, and it also carried a kind of blind optimism. In the current economic downturn and depressed mood, the connection between people has become the most scarce thing.

Guo Yujie grew tired of viewing writing as a purely "self-expression" long ago. She was more concerned with how stories could reach readers and how to understand those who grew up in relationships yet were trapped by structures. As she said in an interview, "I hope the women I write about are not isolated, but live in the intertwining of family and social relationships. In real life, our growth is not something we do alone."

The narrative of a "strong female lead" may also fall into the logic of the survival of the fittest.

Youth Magazine: Although the five stories in *Weaving the Storm* take place in different eras and regions, they are all related to "family." Why did you choose family as the starting point for these stories?

Guo Yujie: Actually, I only realized this "common point" after seeing your question. I didn't do it intentionally, but for me, characters are always defined in "relationships." These stories may not necessarily take place in the specific space of "family," but they must take place in relationships with family members.

Especially for women, the closest and most unavoidable relationships often come from family. Gu Xiang sometimes jokingly asks another writer friend, "Why are there so many relatives in your novels?" This is also my life experience, and my way of seeing people—people are always seen and shaped within relationships. In contrast, many male novelists write about individuals going on adventures or wandering, but women's experiences are more about the close-knit relationships of "walking with others," such as girls going to the bathroom in groups at school. So when I consciously started writing about women's experiences, I knew I had to always place my characters within "relationships."

Family is certainly one of the closest relationships, but I also want the characters to extend beyond the confines of the family. For example, when writing about a relationship between two people, I would have them undergo trials during their travels. In different environments, they would encounter trials different from those within their families.

Youth Magazine: As women, are we more perceptive of relationships? In traditional gender roles, men are often encouraged to "stand on their own" and directly engage in social relationships; while women, more often, understand and interact with the world through the family.

Guo Yujie: Not only are they more perceptive, but they are also more involved. Women's emotional entanglements are more complex, and they consider more aspects. In the past, this was a constraint because she was confined to the family. But today, like the wife in "Jungle Fly," she could have chosen not to, but she still chose to give up her career and return to the family. This is a common tendency among contemporary urban women.

Simone de Beauvoir said that women face a temptation in their growth. You can choose not to strive, you can rely on someone, and this reliance is sometimes a choice. I don't want to judge this choice, after all, the current workplace may not be worth your full effort. In any case, this remains a situation for women.

Youth Magazine: There's a popular "female protagonist" narrative these days, which suggests that women can do anything just like men. Although the protagonists in your novels are all women, they present a more complex layer. They are neither "female protagonists" nor completely dependent on their families, but rather in a state of lingering connections and constant back-and-forth.

Guo Yujie: While the "strong female lead" narrative certainly has its liberating significance, as love and marriage impose more constraints on women, it can also trap people in another logic of survival of the fittest and emphasis on individual competition. More dangerously, it may cause people to lose social connections and become more isolated.

When I was a judge at a short film festival recently, I noticed that, while both were coming-of-age stories, male coming-of-age stories often took place within small groups, with competition or mutual assistance among brothers, giving the stories a social dimension; while female coming-of-age stories were often portrayed as lonely, introverted individual tales.

This is certainly influenced by the dramatic narrative tradition, but I believe that women's experiences should not be so isolated. The so-called "personalized narrative" creates another illusion: you can only rely on yourself. This leads to either self-pity or self-reliance, forming a new binary opposition. I hope the women I write about are not isolated, but rather live within the intertwining of family and social relationships. In real life, our growth is not a solitary process.

Youth Magazine: This kind of growth within relationships is very concretely reflected in your novels. I've noticed that many of your works feature middle-aged and elderly women—for example, the aunt in *Minmin's Inheritance* and the grandmother in *Guanyin Lane*. Did they come from your observations of older women in your life?

Guo Yujie: Yes. Around the time I was writing "Guanyin Lane," the song "Yuzhen" by Fu Lu Shou was popular, and it resonated with me a lot. Almost everyone in my generation was raised by their maternal and paternal grandmothers. The nuclear family parenting model has only become widespread in recent decades; before that, it was "grandparental care," and the caregivers were almost always women.

The "grandmother" in the novel is based on my own grandmother. Born before 1949, she experienced war and famine, was illiterate yet yearned for education, and spent her life caring for others. My mother and aunt's generation were educated and had income, but still struggled during the transition. My generation faces a completely different situation. Chinese society has changed so drastically that the life experiences of women in each generation are drastically different.

Youth Magazine: Reading your novels, this feeling of "the transition between old and new" is very obvious. For example, the grandmother in "Guanyin Lane" is, in today's terms, an "independent woman" who supports the large family, but she is also very traditional, worrying herself sick over getting her aunt married off. This seems to reflect that in China, family and rural traditions are actually very difficult to break down by modernity. But when people talk about various "isms" on social media today, they have already detached themselves from history and tradition, as if they were born directly facing the challenges of modern society.

Guo Yujie: I think this is a trend of polarization in speech brought about by social media, making us easily forget history, as if each generation's experience is completely new and independent. In fact, that's not the case. Many of your ideas and reactions come from the continuation of the previous generation.

For a time, I was particularly averse to those "feminist popular science" discussions. They treated "isms" like facts to be memorized, as if mastering the definition meant you could put them into practice. But in reality, feminism was discussed and practiced as early as the May Fourth Movement, and even the late Qing Dynasty. If you don't understand these experiences and value "isms" more than human life, you're essentially denying other people's lives. Ultimately, you have to return to your own and those around you's life experiences, especially the experiences of previous generations of women. Those who only have knowledge but no experience are actually very vulnerable when facing setbacks.

Youth Magazine: How did you come to value the "experiences of the previous generation of women"?

Guo Yujie: When I was in college, I was in the Chinese Department of Peking University, where the tradition of concern for reality continued since the May Fourth Movement. At that time, we were very interested in the "present" and not so much in the past. In a class on the history of literary theory and criticism, the teacher said something that left a deep impression on me: "Don't think that the ancients were all stupid."

This statement made me realize that the modern education we receive always assumes that "later generations will always be more advanced than their predecessors." But in reality, each generation diligently solves its own problems and creates much that is worth inheriting. The more I learn about history, the more I appreciate this.

I was recently reading Professor Wang Zheng's "Women of the May Fourth Movement: Pioneers of Modern Chinese Feminism," in which she mentioned a female media pioneer who founded the magazine "Women's Voice" in Shanghai in the 1940s to promote women's rights. This pioneer erected a tombstone for herself and had someone write her epitaph because no one knew who she was, so she wanted to record this story.

I was deeply shocked. These things had actually been done before; we just didn't know it. Many of the things we say today, they said long ago. This made me start to think that those forgotten voices actually constitute another kind of historical narrative.

Youth Journal: That's very interesting. Chinese people carry a heavy historical burden. We also love to talk about "the wisdom of the ancients," but most people's understanding of history is more of a grand narrative, such as the rich treasure trove of "five thousand years of civilization." The kind of micro-historical memory you're talking about is actually rarely noticed.

Guo Yujie: Yes, there is indeed a contradiction here. There are many ways to talk about the past, but often only one is allowed. I recently watched a conference organized by Wang Hui called "Forty Years of Chinese Humanities." Historian Gao Bo said that today's young people "have great confidence in the country, but lack confidence in themselves," which is a big change compared to their mentality back then, where "they had hope for the world and for themselves, but not necessarily for the country."

Therefore, I think "how to view tradition" is a particularly big question. What I'd like to see more is what inspiration tradition can still offer in our current crisis of modernity. I believe the most important thing is "human relations," that is, the relationships between people. The core of traditional Chinese culture lies in dealing with these relationships. Of course, there are many inequalities involved, but it also emphasizes close connections. People should face the world in relationships, not in isolation or hostility.

The hardest part of writing a novel is abandoning the "self."

Youth Magazine: Conflict is ubiquitous in interpersonal relationships. The conflicts you depict are everyday and trivial, yet they are captivating. How did you conceive these plot points?

Guo Yujie: This is my first time writing a novel, so it's not very mature yet. I usually start with a scene or a question, like "Jungle Fly". At the time, I had just finished writing my first novel, "Guanyin Lane", which was closest to my experience and I poured a lot of emotion into it. After finishing it, I felt very sad, so I wanted to write a story that was a little further away from my own life and a little lighter.

I recalled my trip to India years ago. Back then, there weren't many Chinese tourists, and I saw many white couples sitting together eating, neither of them speaking. There were no cell phones to play with then; they were just doing their own thing. This scene often made me wonder, is this what marriage is like? Later, as more Chinese people traveled abroad, I noticed many young couples in a similar situation while vacationing in Southeast Asia. So, I wanted to write about how their mindset changed due to each other and their environment while traveling.

I've put a lot of effort into handling dramatic conflict. I don't like using "high-drama" techniques like violence, murder, and sex. Many writers glorify violence to manipulate readers' emotions, and I'm very wary of that. But at the same time, I'm also afraid of making my novel boring, so I've always tried to find drama and suspense in the "everyday."

For example, I remember someone giving an example of an elderly woman whose dental floss got stuck between her teeth, and she desperately tried to get it out—that anxiety itself could be suspenseful. Life is actually full of these little dramas; we just need to see the deeper secrets behind them.

Youth Magazine: The characters in your novels are always in a state of "dynamics," their actions constantly intersecting with their inner turmoil. For example, in *Jungle Fly*, there's a scene where the couple plays " Jungle Fly "—the anxiety escalates step by step with the husband's changing movements and the wife's changing breathing, finally erupting into the wife's words, "What use are you to me?!" But soon, she has to return to the role of comforting and maintaining the relationship. How did you come up with this specific scene?

Guo Yujie: I'm not the kind of novelist who's particularly good at crafting plots, at least not yet. So the plot just came out naturally as I wrote, rather than being predetermined from the start. Often, I don't know what a character will do because I'm not them.

The hardest part of writing a novel is abandoning "myself" and entering another person's world. You know, the two characters in *Jungle Fly* aren't me, nor are they people around me. But I had to enter their world. The hardest part each day was forgetting "what I would do if it were me," because they wouldn't do it that way.

You mentioned earlier that there are many actions involved, which is indeed something I often think about. Many novels feature characters with a great deal of internal dialogue. I've been puzzled by this for a long time. For example, Professor Jin Yucheng criticized this point, saying that we are too influenced by Western novels now, with too much internal dialogue in the characters. But how many Chinese people have that much internal dialogue? So in his novels, those "thoughts" are hidden, becoming "silent."

But then I realized that it's impossible for Chinese people not to have psychological activities. It's just that those psychological activities aren't "psychologically analytical." Take Wang Anyi, for example. She writes a lot about her characters' inner thoughts, but you don't feel that kind of psychological description in the Western sense. Her characters do think, but that "thinking" is more like mental action than intellectual or analytical thought. For example, she might write, "If I were him, I would definitely do better." That's also a psychological activity, but it's "action-oriented," not the kind of thinking where you sit there analyzing your situation.

So you're absolutely right when you say my characters are always "moving." Movement isn't just external; it's also an internal flow. As the characters move, their inner world is also in motion.

Writers must be able to edit themselves

Youth Magazine: When did you first get the idea to write novels? Many media professionals have transitioned to full-time writing, but it seems that not many people write novels.

Guo Yujie: I think I've had the idea of ​​writing a novel for a long time, but I've never really started. I remember once chatting with Xu Zhiyuan, and I mentioned that I wanted to write a novel. He laughed and said, "You say that every spring." I don't even remember it myself, but I guess it's always been on my mind—I still love literature and feel that some things can only be expressed through novels. When I see a good novel, I'm also attracted by that "possibility."

I only really started writing after leaving my media job. As long as you're still employed, it's practically impossible to write novels. Back when I was at *Caijing*, there was an American intern who would get up at 5 a.m. every day to write for two hours straight—I admired that, but I couldn't do it. And after writing nonfiction for so many years, switching to fiction definitely presents a challenge due to inertia. Many nonfiction writers encounter this problem; their writing style is too stable and solid, making it difficult to switch over quickly.

Youth Magazine: What is the biggest challenge in transitioning from non-fiction to fiction writing?

Guo Yujie: When writing nonfiction, your attention is always on the "facts." You have to faithfully record and restore the logic of what the interviewee said and what the scene was like. But novels are completely different; they require you to "create" a world out of thin air.

When I first started writing, I kept thinking: Do real people really say things like that? Is it reasonable to do that? I always felt that every sentence had to be accurate and based on evidence, and as a result, I got stuck. That inertia of "always wanting to verify" was too strong.

Youth Magazine: But I can still see some influence of "non-fiction writing" on you in the book, including what you often said when you guided us in writing in the past: the writing should be concise and use more short sentences; and the rhythm and scene changes should be paid attention to between sentences, paragraphs and chapters.

Guo Yujie: The writing training I received in magazines and newspapers in the past did indeed shape my writing style into a relatively concise and fast-paced approach. Back then, space was limited, and the word count was fixed—for example, only 1500 words per page. You had to strictly control the word count and delete unnecessary content. This instilled in me the habit of always asking myself what can be deleted and what must be kept when revising.

In addition, my experience working in institutional media has made me more considerate of the readers' feelings. When we were doing financial or technology reporting, we would think about how to make professional content easy to understand, logically clear, and yet interesting. Of course, this doesn't mean pandering to the readers; I also like to "challenge" them from time to time.

In my writing, I consciously incorporate rhythmic variations into sentences and paragraphs. I don't just write short sentences; some media colleagues particularly favor short sentences, which can make the writing feel rushed. Combining short and long sentences, and adjusting the reading pace as needed, makes the reading experience more natural and less tiring. Of course, some writers in the literary world deliberately challenge readers, such as Saramago or Faulkner, who often use continuous, unbroken sentences, sometimes even without punctuation. This kind of experimentation is interesting and has inspired my thinking about language rhythm and narrative, which I may incorporate into suitable stories in the future.

Youth Magazine: How do you deal with the challenges that arise during the writing process?

Guo Yujie: Facing different novels is like facing different mysteries of life. You have to find that mystery and then tell it in a suitable way so that the reader can feel it. I deliberately make each one different: different regions, different characters' experiences. Techniques cannot be repeated, so you have to start over every time.

I've actually scrapped quite a few novels, probably seven or eight. They remained at the first draft stage because I realized I couldn't handle them as I wrote. The period when I was writing "Guanyin Lane" was the most painful. Before that, I had already scrapped many novels. Every day I would go to the library, sit down, and write in my diary because I couldn't write anything. I would write in my diary, "I really have no talent," and that feeling of frustration was particularly strong.

Once you get past that stage, especially when you realize the novel has come together, you'll feel incredibly happy, and every paragraph you write will be incredibly satisfying. But this process isn't a natural progression; every word needs to be carefully considered. It may seem like it was written in one go, but behind the scenes, it's all about repeated revisions. Revisions rely entirely on your own initiative; no one can help you, not even an editor. Only you know what you want. Having come from an editing background, I understand this even better—a writer must be able to edit themselves.

My concern isn't about AI, but about the decreasing number of people who take writing seriously.

Youth Magazine: With the widespread application of AI, many people are worried that the craft of storytelling will disappear. I now use AI extensively in my editing work, and sometimes I even experience a sense of emptiness—it's so useful; what used to be a day's work can now be completed in three hours. Given the right instructions, it can elevate an article from a 40 to a 60. As a writer and editor, how do you view the impact of AI on writers?

Guo Yujie: When I was halfway through writing this collection of short stories, ChatGPT came out. It caused quite a stir at the time, with everyone saying, "AI can write in the style of so-and-so author." I was quite panicked at the time, thinking: Is it still necessary for me to write? If AI can write works in the "Guo Yujie style," or even better than me, then what's the point of me writing?

Later, I read two articles by Ted Chiang discussing AI and artistic creation, and they left a deep impression on me. He said that AI is a "compressed internet," and it cannot truly create art. This is because creation is not about "having an idea and then having a machine implement it," but rather about the gradual emergence of creativity through repeated choices of words and phrases during the writing process. Algorithm engineers believe that creation is about executing a "creative instruction," but that's completely wrong. The process and the result of creation are inseparable.

Then I realized the problem wasn't with AI, but with myself. With AI, I might not write better, and without AI, I wouldn't write worse. The key is whether I can write a good story.

Youth Magazine: So writing a novel is about making countless choices.

Guo Yujie: Yes. I really feel that way when I'm writing novels—I have to decide every sentence, every word myself. If you let AI write it, you're giving up those choices. They often say, "You input a hundred words, and the AI ​​writes ten thousand," but that actually means giving up tens of thousands of possibilities. If you want AI to write something that matches your ideal, you might have to give it ten thousand words of instructions first. So why bother?

Writing itself is a process of developing aesthetic sense and establishing judgment. If you rely on AI, you won't know what you want to write, nor will you be able to give precise instructions. So what I'm more worried about is humanity's "abandonment." AI makes it easy for people to produce "passable" works, but it also makes it easier for them to give up on training, while writing skills are improved through a lot of tedious practice. I think this is the most likely thing to happen, rather than the question of whether writers will be replaced by AI, which is currently being discussed.

Youth Magazine: It seems that the question of "whether AI will replace human creation" is no longer important.

Guo Yujie: It can't replace it. Creation requires motivation and experience—readers can sense whether you have something to say and experience to express. AI lacks this passion and experience. It may be able to imitate techniques, but that genuine emotion is the core of literary creation. My concern isn't about AI, but rather that there will be fewer and fewer "serious writers."

Youth Magazine: Do you not use AI at all now?

（Bullshit Job）

Guo Yujie: I didn't download any AI software. However, while making a PowerPoint presentation today, I discovered a window that automatically designs the layout for you. Since I'm terrible at making PowerPoint presentations, I used this feature and found it quite useful. But I also realized that this is actually a " bullshit job." AI is indeed designed for this kind of work; it makes it easier for us to produce those "not good enough" or "barely passable" reports, PowerPoint presentations, and articles. But our lives shouldn't have so much text.

Youth Magazine: What has caused the proliferation of written language?

Guo Yujie: When I used to teach writing, I found that the writing skills of those born in the 1960s and 70s were generally very good, and those born in the 1980s were also quite good, but the writing skills of those younger than that were much worse. This is related to the popularization of the internet. Before the internet, people had very high requirements for writing. At that time, writing was still a precious resource. Paper and space were limited, and every word a person wrote had to be carefully considered. After the internet appeared, writing became no longer scarce, and even became a waste. You can write without restrictions and post whatever you want, without the constraints of paper and layout.

In the past, *Noon* magazine received many submissions, often tens of thousands of words long, without any editing by the authors. This was because people were used to writing and publishing online immediately, and those manuscripts were often completely unfinished. In our time, this was almost unimaginable. We were trained to be responsible for our words, to revise and polish them. Therefore, I think the emergence of AI is actually a response to the text overload brought about by the internet.

Youth Magazine: This reminds me of Walter Benjamin's "The Storyteller." He predicted in the 1920s that one of the consequences of modernity would be the gradual disappearance of "the art of storytelling."

Guo Yujie: Yes, but he mainly talked about the oral tradition—the narrative art of storytelling face-to-face. Tang Nuo disagreed with Benjamin's view, arguing that the modern novel has actually greatly expanded the possibilities of narrative.

However, I believe that the emergence of the internet represents a more dramatic disruption than the printing press. AI is even more so; such a change is almost unparalleled in human history.

Some say that what makes humans special is the invention of writing. Writing allows us to record, think, and pass on knowledge. All previous civilizations relied on oral tradition; wisdom and history were passed down through storytelling. Writing was invented to prevent forgetting and ensure the continuation of knowledge. Later, writing became increasingly complex, capable of carrying deeper thoughts. Tang Nuo also said that if humans had invented cameras much earlier, perhaps there would be no writing at all.

With the rise of media such as video, some argue that we have returned to a stage of "oral civilization." Videos, short films, and podcasts all essentially rely on oral expression. Reading text is too difficult: it requires literacy, grammar understanding, and focused attention. In comparison, listening and watching are much easier.

I sensed this change early in my media career: people were placing increasing emphasis on visuals, with images and videos garnering far more clicks than text. Back then, I had a premonition that we might be entering a new era where "most people are literate, but no longer read." Despite the increasing literacy rate, the number of people who can truly read, write, and are willing to think in words is actually decreasing.

Youth Magazine: You mean literacy is disappearing? But people still crave stories...

Guo Yujie: Many people no longer read or write, but that doesn't mean narrative will disappear. Humans have always told stories; as long as humans exist, there will be narrative.

I once said on "Noon" that the world still lives in stories. If you don't tell them, someone else will. During the entrepreneurial boom of those years, the most common phrase was "You need to have your own story," and people even used storytelling to raise funds and make money. That was the first time I realized that the ability to tell stories could actually become a form of productivity.

The prevalence of conspiracy theories proves that people still enjoy listening to stories. Therefore, I believe that those of us who still care about the world must learn to tell stories, not only mastering narrative techniques but also being able to tell new stories.