CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 12 Writing in the Republic Era (11)

On the way to meet The Watchman, Yang Jinglun had imagined countless times what the man might look like.

Through his interpretation of Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes, he believed that the author of such a profound work must surely be a well-educated, mature man, open-minded and progressive in thought. Someone with a certain amount of life experience, and above all, someone with deep humanistic concern.

Gradually, the image of a refined, elegant young or middle-aged scholar began to form in his mind. He ought to have attended university, perhaps even studied abroad—that would also explain why he had remained obscure until now.

As the Bole who had first discovered this “thousand-li horse,” perhaps after this meeting, they would establish a close and lasting friendship. He would personally unearth and nurture The Watchman, making him famous throughout the land, transforming him from an unknown newcomer into a world-renowned writer. Their private friendship would become a tale celebrated for years to come. Of course, Yang Jinglun himself would rise in stature as well, becoming a senior editor with ever more influence at the newspaper. One day, perhaps even the position of editor-in-chief would not be out of reach…

Carrying these beautiful hopes and expectations for the future, he finally stood before the siheyuan gate indicated in the letter. Excited and nervous, he knocked.

The door opened quickly, and the porter stuck out his head, eyes wary: “Who are you looking for?”

“Did your master perhaps submit a manuscript to the Literary Gazette? I’m an editor there. After receiving his submission, I came especially to pay him a visit.”

“Wait here.” The porter shut the door. Yang Jinglun heard the sound of hurried footsteps growing distant. After a few minutes, footsteps echoed again from within the courtyard. The door opened, and this time the porter wore a smile. “The master invites you in.”

Following him into the main hall, Yang Jinglun saw a youth in a blue robe smile and salute him politely: “Thank you for making the trip, sir. Please, sit.”

Yang Jinglun sat down in a daze, staring curiously at the unfamiliar young man. He seemed not yet twenty, his figure thin and frail. His face was as pale as jade, lips almost colorless, only his eyes shone brightly—amber pupils alive with light, as though containing boundless vitality, softening the aura of illness about him.

This was someone whose body was weak but whose will was firm. That was Yang Jinglun’s first impression.

Seeing the boy host him as though he were master of the house, Yang Jinglun asked in puzzlement: “I am Yang Jinglun, an editor with Literary Gazette. And you are…?” Could it be this young man was The Watchman’s younger brother, or perhaps his son?

The youth replied, “My surname is Li—Li Jingran. I am not yet twenty, so I’ve not taken a courtesy name. You can just call me by my given name.”

“I’m a few years older than you, so I’ll boldly call you Brother Jingran” Yang Jinglun eagerly continued, “Brother Jingran, I came this time to visit The Watchman. So… when might your father or elder brother meet me?”

At that, he saw the youth blink, a strange look in his eyes. Meeting Yang Jinglun’s anxious gaze, he raised an eyebrow and answered slowly, “Perhaps you’re mistaken. I am The Watchman.”

What?

This youth, who looked even younger than him, was The Watchman? Meaning Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes—so profound, so meaningful—was written by a mere teenager?

Surely he was joking? That was both what Yang Jinglun thought and what he asked aloud.

The youth shrugged, his expression a little helpless: “What would be the point of joking about this? And why would I tell a lie that can so easily be exposed?”

Slowly, Yang Jinglun’s reason returned. He forced an awkward smile, realizing he had asked a foolish question. Thinking of how shamelessly he had just addressed The Watchman as “worthy younger brother,” he wanted to bite off his tongue in regret. Since this youth really was The Watchman, such forms of address were completely inappropriate.

He straightened solemnly and saluted, “I was rude to you, sir.”

“I did not expect such outstanding work to come from one so young. My narrow vision failed me.”

Yang Jinglun now looked upon the youth with fresh eyes, unable to hold back his sighs: “Truly, the younger generation is to be feared—the younger generation surpasses us.”

The words sounded comical, coming from someone barely in his twenties himself, but Yang Jinglun didn’t realize this. At that moment, he could not wait to share all the insights he had gleaned from the work with its author. He talked and talked.

Though he didn’t know why the young man’s eyes grew increasingly strange as he listened, The Watchman nonetheless affirmed Yang Jinglun’s interpretations. And for a reader, nothing is more delightful than having one’s reading affirmed by the author himself!

After venting his excitement, Yang Jinglun finally got to the main point: “Sir, your prose is sharp and mature, your plots cleverly structured—hardly the work of a beginner. Have you published in other newspapers before?”

“Only once, in a small hometown paper. Not a very well-known one, not worth mentioning,” Le Jing replied.

“I’ve always admired the Literary Gazette. It is the first and only paper I’ve submitted since arriving in Beiping.”

Yang Jinglun nodded with satisfaction, then embarrassedly said, “Our paper usually offers newcomers a rate of one yuan per thousand characters. Although your work is excellent, you are still, after all, an unknown new author, so…”

Le Jing nodded with understanding. “I understand. A yuan per thousand characters is already very fair.”

Relieved, Yang Jinglun said, “I’m glad you see it that way. When I return, I will discuss it with the chief editor, and do my best to see your work published soon—so that more people may read it.”

Le Jing smiled and nodded. To be honest, his heart was racing with excitement too.

This was the Literary Gazette! A name that would, in later generations, resound with glory, lauded as the cradle of modern Chinese literature. Its roster of writers encompassed half the literary world of China, influencing the thoughts of an entire era.

Le Jing could still remember watching the televised celebration of The Literary Gazette’s centenary when he was a child. During the ceremony, the then editor-in-chief had inscribed these words:

“A hundred years since the founding, a century of storms, a century of honor, upright before heaven and earth, and with a clear conscience. In times of national crisis, plunging into fire and water, sacrificing oneself in pursuit of the greater good. Success or failure, imprisonment or death, though unknown to the world—can it be said there was no voice? History bears witness! Can it be said there was no voice? The rivers and mountains themselves bear the name!”

The bold and tragic inscription had profoundly stirred young Le Jing. He was fascinated by the beauty of humanity that permeated every word.

In the hundred years of The Literary Gazette’s existence, countless warriors had wielded their pens like swords. With every word, they pierced through nearly a century of darkness over the nation, allowing hundreds of millions, long accustomed to living in shadow, to finally see the light!

Le Jing revered these pioneers who swam against the current. They were sparks of the world, radiance of humankind, the spears of the times—destined to be at odds with fate. Each of them was so beautiful it made his breath catch.

Now, he too would raise his torch alongside them, letting its light shine through paper into the hearts of readers, letting its flames rise across the land.

The fire would burn away all the darkness and decay of old China. From the ashes, a new China would stand tall upon the ruins of the past.

“If I’m not mistaken, sir, your Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes is going to be part of a series, isn’t it?”

When Le Jing nodded, Yang Jinglun earnestly continued, “Then for your upcoming works, please continue to publish with us at The Literary Gazette. With your talent, the rate of one yuan per thousand characters is only temporary. I believe once the novel is serialized, your pay will rise to at least two yuan per thousand.”

Le Jing agreed without hesitation. Even if Yang Jinglun hadn’t asked, he would have chosen The Literary Gazette anyway. To a devoted literary youth like him, it carried a deep sentiment.

“But I have one condition.”

Yang Jinglun froze. “What condition?”

Le Jing said, “I want your newspaper to assign me a dedicated editor. And all of my personal information must remain confidential—known only to that editor.”

For one, he hadn’t grown strong enough yet and didn’t want to attract unnecessary trouble. For another, he feared that Li Tingye might trace him back through the novel. He was only sixteen—not yet of age. If Li Tingye tried to control him, neither law nor morality would deem it unreasonable. Once he became an adult, however, Li Tingye’s restraint would only remain on the moral level. At least until then, he had to keep a low profile.

This condition put Yang Jinglun in a bind. “I’ll need to consult the editor-in-chief before I can give you an answer.”

“I’ll be waiting for good news then.”

Yang Jinglun left in a rush and returned triumphantly, swaggering straight into the editor-in-chief’s office. Even when facing the editor’s dark-as-coal expression, he showed no fear, smugly handing him the manuscript of The Watchman.

The editor gave him a strange look, took the pages, and skimmed them casually. Then, his expression immediately changed.

His eyes slowed in their movement, a glint of thought flashing in them from time to time. After finishing, he let out a long sigh, looking pensive. “Whose manuscript is this?” His eyes gleamed brightly. “Such fine work will surely cause a stir.”

When the editor heard that the author was just a teenager, his face transformed.

He looked Yang Jinglun up and down, clicking his tongue. “Good lad, you’ve stumbled upon a treasure.” He patted Yang Jinglun’s shoulder encouragingly. “Stay in touch with this author whenever you can, build up a good rapport in advance, understood?”

Yang Jinglun nodded knowingly. He hadn’t expected the editor-in-chief to think so highly of Li Jingran as well. It seemed he truly had discovered a hidden gem this time!

He quickly relayed the somewhat unusual request the author had made. The editor pondered for a moment, then looked up at Yang Jinglun and decisively said, “Since Mr. Li wishes to remain low-key, we’ll help keep his secret. As for who will be his editor… it’ll be you.”

“Me?” Yang Jinglun was caught off guard. Though he secretly hoped to become Li’s editor—since he greatly admired his talent—he had been gathering courage to recommend himself. He hadn’t expected the editor-in-chief to hand him the role so easily!

“The fact that you received this manuscript already shows fate tied you to him. And clearly, the author has a good impression of you. Having you take charge of Mr. Li is fitting.” The editor patted his shoulder, his gaze unusually kind. “It’s a challenge for you—make sure you rise to it.”

Yang Jinglun’s face flushed red with excitement. By the time he walked out of the office, his steps were practically floating. He had already recognized Li Jingran’s potential, but the editor’s approval only confirmed it. Author and editor complement each other. He had a strong feeling Li Jingran would give him far more than he could ever imagine.

Three days later.

“Hurry up, brother!”

Le Jing leisurely swallowed a spoonful of porridge, glancing at the flustered Li Shuran, utterly unconcerned. “What’s the rush? The newsstand won’t grow legs and run away.”

Li Shuran stomped her feet. “But this is your very first article published in The Literary Gazette! I want to buy a copy and frame it. If we’re late, the papers might all sell out!”

Sighing, Le Jing set down his bowl, stood, and straightened his clothes. He walked past the still-dazed Li Shuran, glancing back at her. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Ah? Oh!” Li Shuran eagerly grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door.

As Le Jing expected, the newsstand still had plenty of today’s Literary Gazette. He watched as the normally thrifty Li Shuran generously handed over a dime and bought more than ten copies.

Le Jing was speechless. “Why on earth are you buying so many of the same paper?”

“Of course, to give them away and to keep some!” she replied matter-of-factly.

Le Jing quickly lowered his voice. “Shuran, I told you before—not to tell anyone I’m writing novels.”

“I know, I won’t tell anyone this is my brother’s work.” She grinned mischievously. “I’ll just say it’s from an author I really like, and I’ll promote it to all my classmates!”

Le Jing: …Are you sure your classmates, who can barely recognize a few characters, will even understand my article?

But seeing her radiant smile, he swallowed his complaints, pulled out one copy, and flipped through. Soon he found his piece on the third page. The article wasn’t long—just over six thousand characters—but since a single page couldn’t hold it, it filled two whole pages of the paper.

There was something surreal about seeing his words printed in lead on a newspaper from a century ago. In the future, these would all be precious historical documents—highly collectible.

After a moment’s thought, he said, “Boss, give me ten more copies of today’s Literary Gazette.”

Li Shuran: “???”

Patting her head, Le Jing said solemnly, “Don’t give yours away. Keep them safe. You’re still young, you don’t understand—these will be antiques in a hundred years, worth a fortune.”

Even if they didn’t fetch money, they’d still make excellent material for bragging over drinks.