CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 13 Writing in the Republic Era (12)

The principal of Enlightenment Middle School, Zhou Dezhang, was reading a newspaper. As he read, he suddenly let out a surprised “Eh?”

His wife asked him, “What’s the matter?”

Zhou Dezhang tapped on an article in the paper and said with a smile, “This piece is rather interesting.”

His wife leaned over and read aloud: “Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes?”

Zhou Dezhang stroked his fine beard in appreciation. “The author is quite ingenious—imagine coming up with the idea of making a rat the protagonist, observing people and the world from its point of view. Interesting, very interesting!”

His wife was also intrigued. She took the newspaper and quickly finished reading the article. She nodded in agreement. “The topic is fresh, and the theme profound. A very good article.”

She glanced at the author’s name. “The Watchman?” Looking at her husband, she asked, “Have you heard of him?”

Zhou Dezhang shook his head. “Judging by his seasoned style, he should be an experienced writer using a new pen name.” He shook the newspaper lightly. “This must be part of a series. I wonder what story he’ll tell next? I really am a bit expectant.”

Since it was rare for him to go out, Le Jing decided to take Li Shuran for a proper stroll.

The young girl spent all her time studying these days. If she didn’t get out and have some fun, she’d soon turn into a bookworm locked indoors.

As they passed a Western-style pastry shop, Le Jing noticed her curious gaze and asked, “Do you want to go in and have a look?”

Li Shuran shook her head in alarm. “No, no, the pastries here are too expensive!”

Le Jing smiled indifferently, but before he could say anything, a voice interrupted:

“Li Shuran, I thought you were so pure and reserved. But now it seems you’re nothing more than a fickle, wanton woman!”

Le Jing paused and looked up to see a boy of about fifteen or sixteen. His looks were ordinary, his clothes clean and neat—he didn’t seem wealthy—but his venomous eyes lingered on the two of them.

Li Shuran’s face instantly turned pale. Judging by her expression, she clearly knew this person.

Le Jing stepped in front of her. “Utter nonsense! Who are you, to slander my sister’s purity in public like this? Apologize at once!”

The boy’s expression shifted. He looked at Le Jing in surprise. “Your sister? You’re her brother?”

“That’s right. Quickly apologize to my sister!”

The hatred in the boy’s eyes faded a little, and he explained nonchalantly, “Sorry, it’s all a misunderstanding. I’m Shuran’s boyfriend. Seeing how close she was with her elder brother just now, I misunderstood.”

“You’re not my boyfriend!” Li Shuran shrieked. “Don’t you dare spout such nonsense!”

Le Jing’s expression cooled. “My sister doesn’t even know you. A young girl’s reputation is priceless—please stop talking such drivel.”

The boy said calmly, “Perhaps we could step aside and talk, elder brother?”

Le Jing glanced at Li Shuran. “What do you think?”

Li Shuran shook her head furiously, clinging tightly to Le Jing’s sleeve, her cheeks flushed with anger. “Brother, don’t get tangled up with him. Let’s just go.”

The boy’s face darkened, a ferocious glint flashing in his eyes. “Don’t be so shameless! My family works in the Tang household. For you to be chosen by me is your blessing!”

Le Jing sneered. “And what of the Tang household? Does being from the Tang household give you the right to harass decent women in public? If you keep pestering us with your filth, I’ll call the police!”

The boy curled his lips, his eyes full of disdain. “Go ahead, ask around all of Beiping. The Tang family are honored guests at the police department. During the holidays, they often mingle with the officers. You can report me if you want—let’s see if the police arrest me or arrest you.”

Le Jing asked calmly, “Are you surnamed Tang?”

“…My family works for the Tangs. My father is the most trusted man under Master Tang…”

Le Jing cut him off. “Oh, so you’re just a lackey. The way you keep saying ‘our Tang family,’ anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the Tang family’s eldest young master.”

“You’re not even a Tang heir—what makes you think the police won’t arrest you? Best not to cause trouble here.”

The boy’s face flushed scarlet with rage, and he shouted, “Look at yourselves! Just a daughter from some small merchant’s family out of town. You should be grateful I even set my sights on your sister. Don’t fail to recognize your good fortune!”

The street was already bustling with people, and the boy’s sudden loud voice naturally drew a fair amount of attention and whispers.

Le Jing also raised his voice: “What a bully of a vicious dog! You hide behind the name of the Tang Mansion to do whatever you like, and on the streets, you harass respectable young women. If I were Mr. Tang, I would report you to the police and have you arrested, to clean house!”

Having said that, he ignored the boy’s filthy words, took Li Shuran’s hand, and said, “Let’s go.”

Along the way, Le Jing learned the full story from Li Shuran.

The head of the Tang Mansion, Master Tang, was a wealthy businessman who traded not only with the British but also with the Japanese. He was well-connected and respected even at the police station.

The boy’s name was Wang Defu. His father was Master Tang’s driver, and his mother was the wet nurse of Young Master Tang. He had grown up with Young Master Tang, the type who bullied the weak and feared the strong, and despised the poor while loving the rich.

Li Shuran never spoke much about her family at school. When asked, she simply said her parents were abroad on business and had sent her to Beiping to study.

As time went on, Wang Defu set his sights on her.

“My classmates said he’s the son of a servant,” Li Shuran explained, “so in the future, the household would just assign him a maid. But he was arrogant and proud, naturally dissatisfied. Seeing me, who may not be wealthy but at least a young lady, he… well…”

Le Jing suddenly understood.

So Wang Defu’s plan was to use marriage as a way to cross social classes. He saw that Li Shuran was pretty, appeared to be a young lady, and learned that her parents were not around. Naturally, he had crooked intentions.

Li Shuran looked downcast, full of self-blame: “It’s all my fault. I got in the way of my brother. If I had acted more cautiously, this wouldn’t have happened…”

Le Jing said, “What does this have to do with you? It was Wang Defu who had bad intentions. If it weren’t you, he’d have harassed someone else. If you blame yourself, you’re just playing into his hands!”

After comforting Li Shuran a few more times, he finally cheered the girl up.

He asked her if she wanted to transfer schools, but Li Shuran refused.

“Just like you said, brother,” she said, “it’s him who did wrong, not me. Why should I avoid him? There are teachers around at school, he wouldn’t dare do anything to me! If he bothers me again, I’ll report him to the police!”

Le Jing thought it over. Indeed, Wang Defu was, after all, just the son of a servant. The Tang Mansion wouldn’t really put effort into him.

Moreover, things had been busy lately, so Le Jing let the matter drop.

Having his articles published in the Literary Gazette was just the beginning. His immediate priority was to focus on writing the next installments of Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes.

After all, Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes was a series, much like modern serialized web novels. To maintain popularity, it needed to be updated regularly. Of course, the writing environment in the Republic era was still relatively relaxed. He didn’t need to update daily. Le Jing’s own rule was at least a weekly update—which was the limit for him at present. For one, his health was not perfect; two, what he was writing was not the mindless escapist fiction of later eras. He was writing tragedies, leaning toward serious literature, which placed a heavy burden on his mind.

One day, while Le Jing was carefully polishing his second article, Yang Jinglun burst in, waving a newspaper, shouting excitedly: “Sir! Sir! You’re famous now!”

Le Jing put down his pen and glanced at him. “What?”

Yang Jinglun’s face was red, and he pointed excitedly to a spot in the paper. “Sir, look! It’s Mr. Zheng! Mr. Zheng wrote a review of your article!”

Le Jing’s expression froze.

Mr. Zheng… could it be the Mr. Zheng he was thinking of?

His eyes hurried along the direction Yang Jinglun was pointing. When he saw the name, even someone as calm and composed as Le Jing felt his mind go blank for a moment.

Mr. Zheng—it really was him!

Mr. Zheng, full name Zheng Yiliang, pen name Xiaoyao Sanren, was a historically renowned revolutionary and scholar. In life, he was remarkably formidable, wielding his pen as a weapon, waging battles against all social evils of the time. He was unmatched in verbal sparring. Yet what ultimately elevated him to legendary status, admired by generations, was his death.

He had been assassinated.

In his lifetime, he had offended too many people; there were far too many who wished he were dead. Even a hundred years later, the identity of the mastermind behind Mr. Zheng’s assassination remained a mystery.

Regarding Mr. Zheng’s death, history textbooks contained only this cold line: On October 5, 1928, the renowned scholar Zheng Yiliang was shot in his bedroom and died without recovery, aged 35.

This revolutionary fighter, who had spent his life advocating freedom and equality, ultimately died before the dawn of the new world.

Now it was April 25, 1925—roughly three and a half years before that despicable assassination. There was still some time. Le Jing didn’t know if he could prevent it, but if the opportunity arose, he would certainly try.

But that was all for later. What needed his attention now was the book review Mr. Zheng had written for him, published in the newspaper!

“Reading ‘Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes’—How Long Will a World Worse Than a Rat Last?” Yang Jinglun read the article aloud in a soft voice:

“Recently, I came across a rather interesting article in the newspaper, written from the perspective of a rat from the future, observing society in the Republic of China…”

“…Rat look down on humans and find all beings absurd and laughable…”

“…Although Bai Xue is a rat, he lives up to his name, possessing a heart as pure as snow, far purer than many humans. Yet such purity cannot survive in this era where humans are worse than rat. He must become a pet of the wealthy, begging and wagging his tail to survive…”

“…Why are our people so numb and indifferent? Why are they vile and cruel? As the author, The Watchman, stated, it is because the terminal disease called poverty has infected the entire nation. Poverty has stolen the emotions and reason that make humans human, turning them into irrational beasts…”

Then Mr. Zheng shifted his tone, turning his critique toward social darkness and governmental inaction, using the opportunity to advocate once again his perennial revolutionary stance—complete Westernization.

Finally, Mr. Zheng concluded:

“To this day, we must admit that for our country to prosper and strengthen, we must learn all the advanced systems of the West. The government must vigorously develop industry and commerce, promote education, and improve basic medical services… Only in this way can China become the New China that Bai Xue spoke of—a nation of freedom, equality, brightness, and wealth, a century later!”

After reading, Yang Jinglun’s clear voice choked up slightly. Hoarsely, he asked Le Jing, “Sir, do you think our China can rise again?”

Meeting the young man’s bewildered eyes, Le Jing nodded firmly: “We will rise again. Until then, we just need to wait.”

Wait for that great man to appear, for the proclamation atop Tiananmen Tower to finally ring out across the East, dispelling a century of darkness, and propelling the nation and its people toward a new tomorrow.

The influence of celebrities is enormous, and this is true in any era. With a prominent figure like Zheng Yiliang personally writing a review, newspapers quickly began publishing a variety of book critiques of Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes. The pseudonym “The Watchman” gained a modest reputation in cultural circles.

Many influential people had heard of this newcomer whose article had appeared in the newspaper, and Zheng Yiliang’s involvement drew attention. For a time, the pseudonym “The Watchman” was briefly remembered, though most people soon forgot, as he was merely a fledgling. Whether he would flourish or falter in the future remained uncertain. Few, like Zheng Yiliang, were impatient enough to step in early.

The following week, the second story of Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes was published.

This time, the protagonist was a mere ten-year-old courtesan—a little girl sold by her parents to human traffickers to save the family.

This girl had a real-life counterpart: the daughter of the household staff Le Jing had taken in. The Zhou family’s daughter, now eleven, had been sold into a brothel by her parents, yet she still visited them and used her earnings to support her family.

At first, it seemed unbelievable, but in that era, it was normal. Many girls in the same brothel were sold by husbands, parents, or even children. These poor women exchanged their bodies for money to sustain their families.

Although many progressives had begun advocating for women’s liberation, for most people at the time, women were family property. When the family was destitute, pawning or selling a daughter was considered acceptable—even the women themselves often accepted it.

Zhou’s daughter did not resent her parents. She even thoughtfully wanted to save her earnings for her brother’s future marriage.

Of course, the Zhous were not entirely indifferent—they were not monsters. If they were, Le Jing would have long kicked them out; he would never waste his kindness on such filth. Zhou had already promised his son that the brother could marry only after redeeming the sister, and that he would care for her in old age.

When Le Jing asked the family about the girl’s history for his writing, Zhou, with eyes red, fiercely instructed his son: “If I die and you neglect your sister, I’ll haunt you as a ghost!”

They knew forcing a girl into prostitution was inhumane—they simply had no choice. For the poor, survival was already a full struggle. As one literary figure wrote, “Decency and morality are preached by the wealthy. For the poor, filling the stomach is the greatest truth.”

By the standards of the era, the Zhou daughter was already a fortunate poor girl: her parents cared about her life and wanted her to survive.

The courtesan in Le Jing’s story, however, was far less fortunate. Named Bai Xiang, she was sold into a brothel by her gambling-addicted father at age five. By seven, she had been deflowered by a regular client, becoming a child courtesan.

Being so young, her clients were often perverse, and Bai Xiang suffered cruel torments. Soon, she contracted venereal diseases; her lower body ulcerated. The madam first tried burning her with tongs; when that failed, she seized all Bai Xiang’s belongings and kicked her out.

It was then that Bai Xue, the privileged rat, encountered Bai Xiang. This was the story’s beginning—and its end.

A pampered rat met a sick, impoverished courtesan and listened to the short, tragic life of the girl named Bai Xiang. Bai Xue, being a rat, could do nothing—only silently record the girl’s story.

Yet another story from Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes.

As Le Jing had predicted, the article struck sensitive nerves and caused a public stir. In the Republic of China, prostitution was a legal profession, and brothels paid taxes. For many men, visiting prostitutes was considered a refined activity.

Le Jing’s article, however, had poked a hornet’s nest. Praise for Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes immediately turned into relentless criticism.