CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 15 Writing in the Republic Era (14)

Watching Li Shuran cry so pitifully, Le Jing sighed inwardly.

In truth, he bore some responsibility for what had happened.

He liked to call it his choice not to interfere in Li Shuran’s life, letting her make her own decisions—but deep down, it was really just because he didn’t care.

Although he quite liked Li Shuran, this innocent and gentle girl, and had long decided to fulfill Li Jingran’s responsibility of taking care of her, it wasn’t as if he had deep romantic feelings for her.

He would ensure Li Shuran had a comfortable material life and provide basic care and attention—but that was all. A brother who truly cared for his sister, upon hearing some troublemaker harassing her, would at least feel worry if not anger. He would never react as nonchalantly as Le Jing, and quickly put the matter out of his mind.

Ultimately, it all came down to the fact that he simply didn’t care.

Le Jing did not think he had done anything wrong. Even now, he didn’t feel that his relationship with Li Shuran had reached the point where he should bear responsibility for her life.

But seeing the young girl cry so miserably, thinking she had caused him trouble, he still comforted her: “This has nothing to do with you—you’re just another victim. Villains do evil for no reason; good people need not feel guilty for the crimes of the wicked. Feeling guilty only plays into the hands of the bad people.”

Recalling how the little girl had just cried while holding her innocent face, scolding him as a “femme fatale,” Le Jing’s eyes twitched with scattered amusement. The scene had been ridiculously funny.

Yet after smiling, he still seriously admonished Li Shuran: “The so-called ‘femme fatale’ notion is nothing more than men in a patriarchal society shifting blame to cover their own incompetence. They use women as scapegoats for family decline or even the fall of dynasties. Such words are utterly irresponsible. I believe that in thousands of years of patriarchal society, no woman could wield that much power.”

If this were a comic, Li Shuran’s eyes would probably have turned into spirals by now.

Le Jing shook his head with a smile, knowing it was too early to say these things to her.

After a moment’s thought, he spoke to the anxious Li Shuran: “You needn’t worry about that master-servant pair. I’ll deal with them myself. For the next few days, I’ll give you leave—you should stay home and focus on your studies.” Let him handle the pair properly. If he could offend both siblings thoroughly at once, they were truly remarkable in their own way.

Miraculously, Li Shuran calmed down after hearing Le Jing’s words. She trusted that since her brother said so, there would be a solution. Although he said it wasn’t her fault, she really had caused him trouble this time.

The two siblings were alone in Beiping. Her brother, ill and still rushing to earn money by writing, should not have been troubled by her. She had thought that if she avoided that man, he wouldn’t dare to force her in public. But who could have imagined that villain would be so despicable as to target her brother—and even say such vulgar and cruel things!

Although her brother didn’t blame her, she couldn’t forgive herself. She was too useless, always causing him trouble. She vowed to study hard, to become useful as soon as possible, so that one day she could help him instead.

…

Once again, it was the day Yang Jinglun came to collect manuscripts, as he did every week. This time, he received the third article of “Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes”. As usual, he read it carefully.

The more he read, the wider his smile grew, until it could hardly be contained. Finally, he burst into laughter, looking up at Le Jing, his eyes full of deep admiration: “I didn’t expect you, sir, to be so petty.”

If Nantung’s scolding skills were at the level of a middle schooler, then the boy before him possessed professor-level mastery!

Le Jing raised an eyebrow calmly and said, “I’m just speaking the truth.”

“Indeed, the truth!” Yang Jinglun laughed uncontrollably. “I fear that once this article is published, Nantung will be furious to death.”

Le Jing smiled faintly; this was exactly his intention.

In this article, he used Bai Xue’s perspective to sharply satirize Tang Nan and Zhang Defu, vividly portraying their cowardice toward the weak, worship of foreign powers, and cold-hearted ruthlessness. It was so repulsive that anyone who read it would be disgusted, ensuring that their reputations would be utterly ruined.

Moreover, this piece had a subtly different style from his previous works. The “capitalist comprador” chapter was actually a story full of magical realism.

Tang Nan had insulted Le Jing, calling him impotent, but Le Jing was an honest man; he couldn’t stoop to spreading baseless rumors. So he could only speak the truth: the Tang family had profited from national disasters.

Yang Jinglun looked at Le Jing as if he were witnessing a new star rising in the world of Republican-era literary sparring. He was certain that once this article was published, Tang Nan would be caught in a storm of public condemnation!

…

Zheng Yiliang put down his chopsticks heavily, feeling the food tasteless in his mouth.

His wife glanced at him. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Zheng Yiliang huffed angrily. “I’m not eating! I’m full of anger already; why would I eat more?” 

His wife rolled her eyes at him, ignoring his foul temper, and continued eating heartily.

Zheng Yiliang, however, couldn’t contain himself. He muttered, “Look at what that little bastard said in the newspaper! He said, ‘I don’t know why an article like this could even earn Mr. Zheng Yiliang’s praise.’ What the hell is that supposed to mean? Isn’t he spreading rumors, implying that I only praised it because I was bribed by The Watchman? Damn it! That little son of a bitch… he’s worthless!”

His wife put down her bowl. “He didn’t say that. Even if you scold him, he would just call you, Zheng Yiliang, a respectable university professor trying to gain attention by picking fights with a newcomer. That’s exactly what he wanted. And you, as a teacher, could you stop swearing like that? What if your students hear you?”

Zheng Yiliang snorted coldly. He understood the reason in his wife’s words, which was why he hadn’t started a public feud with that blond kid in the papers these past few days. But keeping silent like this still frustrated him terribly.

“Dad! Dad!” His eldest son ran in, beaming.

Zheng Yiliang’s face hardened. With the authority of a strict father, he scolded, “You’re not a little child anymore! What are you doing rushing in like this?” He was about to unleash a torrent of curses, but his wife shot him a glance, and the words stuck in his throat. He cleared it and asked, stiffly, “What is it?”

“Dad, look at the article in the paper. The Watchman tore that Tang Nan to pieces!”

Hearing this, Zheng Yiliang snatched the newspaper from his son and devoured it with hungry eyes. The more he read, the more delighted he became, as if drinking a bowl of ice water on a scorching summer day—it was exhilarating!

Excerpt from the article:

Ever since I was adopted by Young Master Tang, my life has been very comfortable. Young Master Tang is easy to please, kind, and always indulgent toward me.

I live in the mansion like a fish in water, perfectly at ease.

What makes me happiest is that Young Master Tang has a rare gift—he can understand what we mice say, so we often converse when we have free time.

The only downside is that the Tang family constantly throws endless banquets, filled with all kinds of colorful foreigners. They are noisy and smell strongly; it’s suffocating.

Soon, I discovered an amusing hobby of Young Master Tang.

He likes to lick foreigners’ shoes.

He would lie on the ground, head down, licking with great dedication, clearly enjoying it. Saliva would drip everywhere; he really looked like a little lapdog.

His personal servant, Zhang Defu, seemed envious and kept asking, “Master, how do the foreigner’s shoes taste?”

Young Master Tang pursed his lips, savoring the memory. “Do you want to try? It tastes really good.”

Zhang Defu immediately got excited, making a cat-like meow of pleasure, and eagerly pushed Tang aside to kneel and lick.

The person whose shoe was being licked appeared to be an Englishman. Satisfied, he said to Zhang Defu, “Good. I like you Chinese people. With such a long history, even your shoe-licking is cleaner than anyone else’s.”

…

That day, I heard from the servants that there had been a drought in some place, and the crops had failed, leaving many people to starve to death.

But Young Master Tang was very happy, saying that their family would soon get rich!

I didn’t understand what connection there was.

All I knew was that Young Master Tang had his people collect the grain, but didn’t sell it. He just said the price wasn’t high enough yet and that they should wait.

When I asked why, Young Master Tang said proudly: “Beasts are still beasts—they can’t even see this. Don’t you know, once they’re starving, a handful of grain can buy a whole house! And a girl as beautiful as a flower, give her a bite of food, and she’ll follow you. There’s no deal more profitable than that.”

…

That day, we talked about the saying, “A dog can’t stop eating feces.”

“I think that saying is a huge insult to dogs,” I said angrily. “I’ve seen many dogs, and none of them eat feces.”

“That’s because you’ve never met good feces. The Chinese are vile and filthy, so their feces is also disgusting,” Young Master Tang licked his lips like a dog. “But the foreigner’s feces is different. Foreigners are civilized, polite, high-class people, and their feces is delicious.”

I didn’t believe him: “Feces is feces. No matter who produced it, it’s all the same.”

Young Master Tang ignored me, drooling as he said with delight: “In a foreign, fragrant toilet, I would gladly be a happy maggot!”

…

I wasn’t always stuck at home; sometimes I went out for walks with Zhang Defu.

But Zhang Defu always took me to the same place, which was unbearably boring.

The place was even bigger than Young Master Tang’s house, with many small rooms filled with pale, naked bodies—women and men embracing, making strange sounds, and a nauseating stench in the air.

God only knows how much my ears and nose suffered!

But Zhang Defu loved playing his ‘ride the woman’ game. He often threw me to the bedside, then endlessly rode on the women. Each time, the woman would cry and scream without end. 

As a mouse, there was nothing more boring than this.

After so many times, I inevitably observed the poor woman a little. After careful comparison, I found she seemed quite young, only slightly taller than a table, which meant she was still a little girl by human age.

Later, I heard from other women that she had once been the daughter of a wealthy family. After her family fell, she was sold into a brothel.

…

That day, I was bored and lying under the bed when the crying girl shouted: “Zhang Defu, you beast! You’ve ruined my whole family! You’ll surely get your comeuppance!”

Zhang Defu immediately slapped her hard, shouting: “You filthy bitch! Ungrateful! If you had submitted to me earlier, your family wouldn’t be suffering! It’s all your fault! Who told you to look down on me!”

Then he went on with bizarre claims about his father being a driver for the Tang family, his mother being Young Master Tang’s wet nurse, and that he himself was half a Tang.

I still didn’t understand—Zhang Defu’s surname is Zhang, so how could he be part of the Tang family?

…

 “In a foreign, fragrant toilet, I would gladly be a happy maggot,” Zheng Yiliang, a master of the art of trash talk, couldn’t help reading aloud. He happily patted the table, feeling deeply satisfied: “Brilliant!”

He didn’t expect that The Watchman’s literary style could be so versatile—writing satire with such flavor.

Zheng Yiliang said with delight: “The Watchman really spoke to my heart! Damn, this is exciting! So manly! I really want to meet him!”

His wife sighed faintly, never understanding how her cultured husband could speak like a bandit. 

Over here, Zheng Yiliang was applauding Le Jing’s article, while over at Nantang’s place, he was furious enough to almost overturn the table.

Nantang, whose real name was Tang Nan, usually considered himself highly civilized, but The Watchman’s article portrayed him as filthy and lecherous—how could he not be furious? 

“What’s the matter, Brother Tang? Did the newspaper say something?”

Tang Nan looked up at the curious young eyes, forcing a smile: “Nothing, just a petty person criticized me in the paper. You know, fame brings trouble. I’m used to it.”

The boy nodded in understanding: “Before I came to the capital, my father also said Brother Tang is a top talent of the younger generation, studied abroad, and very knowledgeable. I should learn a lot from you!”

“Your uncle is too kind,” Tang Nan’s expression softened. Maintaining an air of authority, he said: “Although it’s not as good as Western schools, Enlightened Middle School is decent. Since you got in, you must study diligently, so as not to disgrace the Li family of Fengtian.”

The boy—Li Jingran’s half-brother, Li Jingliang—nodded respectfully.

…

Le Jing had no idea that the original mother’s child had already arrived in Beiping to study, and had even tangled with Nantang, this troublemaker. At that time, he was busy checking readers’ letters.

Since the serialization of Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes, many readers had sent letters to the editorial office. Yang Jinglun helped organize them and passed some representative letters to Le Jing. Le Jing not only had to read them but also respond.

After writing several routine replies like “Thank you for liking my article,” Le Jing opened a particularly unusual letter.

The sender was a prostitute.