"You may have misunderstood me," Zhang Heng said. "I'm asking about writing not because I want to become a second someone else, but because I want to use these techniques to tell my own stories well."
Hemingway looked somewhat surprised. "From the sound of it, you intend to seek advice from a lot of people besides me?"
"What, is there some sort of taboo against that?"
"Not really. In fact, most people in this estate hope their writing styles will be embraced by more of their peers, especially younger creators. Literature itself is passed down from generation to generation. Every generation of us stands on the shoulders of those who came before, stretching up to reach even higher. But..."
Hemingway changed tack. "But everyone who can come to this estate is already an author with an established personal style. In other words, everyone has found their own path. Generally speaking, unless they encounter some major upheaval along the way, they'll stick to that path until the end. That's why I said earlier that I didn't want to teach you. Discussing and exchanging ideas is one thing; learning from someone is another.
Hemingway paused. "And my personal style is too strong. I'm worried it might affect your own path, not to mention that you intend to seek advice from others as well. I understand how you feel, having just arrived here. In truth, you aren't the first person to have such plans. After all, it's rare to find a place that gathers together so many of the best writers in the world, and some of them may have influenced you deeply, perhaps even guided you onto the path of literature. But if you let that bewilder you and abandon your own path, the losses will outweigh the gains."
Hemingway was not