CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 19 Writing in the Republic Era (18)

Le Jing pondered for a long time over a new theme for his writing. It had to be down-to-earth enough for ordinary people to feel a sense of immersion, while still being interesting enough to keep readers hooked.

Most importantly, the theme had to subtly allow readers to absorb his ideas without even realizing it.

After much thought, Le Jing finally remembered the genre of time-travel novels.

Ever since the great literary master Mark Twain wrote the world’s first time-travel novel, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, the genre had flourished for over a hundred years without decline, branching into various schools. In China, the most popular form was traveling back to the past to participate in or even change history. The widely acknowledged pioneer of this genre was Master Huang’s A Step into the Past.

In it, the protagonist Xiang Shaolong travels to the Warring States period, befriends various historical figures, and participates in shaping history. For the people at the time, it was like a strong stimulant, still remembered and talked about years later.

Although in later generations, time-travel novels became so common that they were considered cliché, in this current era where entertainment was underdeveloped, such a theme was undoubtedly fresh and certain to stand out, quickly gaining popularity.

In the entertainment-exploding later generations, Le Jing had read countless time-travel historical novels. Many excellent works featured authors who logically deduced how history would develop after being altered, exploring the political and cultural consequences that followed. These stories were not only thought-provoking but also highly entertaining.

For popular fiction, being entertaining alone was more than enough.

This was exactly the kind of story Le Jing wanted to write—a grand, turbulent, dramatic, yet highly engaging time-travel historical epic.

He wanted to explore, even if in an immature way, issues about national political systems. He wanted to use his advanced knowledge gained from a hundred years later and pass it on to readers through the narrative of his novel.

Le Jing was a die-hard Qidian loyalist, firmly believing in the site’s famous maxim: If you time-travel into the Qing Dynasty, don’t rebel; just equip a chrysanthemum with a power drill.

So, in line with his instincts, he really wanted to write a novel about traveling back to the Ming Dynasty, altering history, and forging a strong and iron-blooded empire. But that was just a passing thought—he was still rational.

After all, this was the Republic of China, a nation standing at a historical turning point.

Reform and tradition, progress and conservatism, advancement and backwardness, civilization and barbarism… all these contradictions coexisted, clashing and colliding, sparking dazzling flames of thought. From this, another intellectual revolution was brewing, second only to the Hundred Schools of Thought.

Because of the constraints of the times and his limited knowledge of history, it was impossible for Le Jing to write a time-travel story that changed the course of a real dynasty. For one, the Qing Dynasty had only recently fallen, and many of its loyalists were still active in politics. If Le Jing dared to write such a “forbidden book” (never mind whether any newspaper would even dare to publish it), assassins would soon be knocking at his door. Secondly, he had never systematically studied history in modern times, and compared to true cultural scholars, his knowledge was shallow and laughable. Writing recklessly would only leave loopholes for ridicule.

Under such circumstances, a fictional dynasty was the best choice. Because it was entirely made up, everything in it would follow his own design, free from nitpicking historians. Moreover, a fictional empire would lower the political sensitivity of his work, ensuring it wouldn’t be easily banned as subversive literature.

He had even decided on the title: “The Rise of a Dynasty.” The name was blunt and straightforward, deliberately chosen to appeal to the market and readers. In fact, if he weren’t worried the government might ban it as seditious, he would have preferred to call it “After the Rebellion Succeeds.”

As for the protagonist, to avoid being too shocking, Le Jing planned to make him a Republic-era university professor—a man whose theories were out of step with his time, yet who would shine brilliantly in a different historical context as a true pioneer.

Once he finalized the general outline, Le Jing’s inspiration surged. He wrote non-stop the entire morning. If Li Shuran hadn’t called him for lunch, he wouldn’t have realized how much time had passed.

Stretching his sore back, he stood up and felt a wave of dizziness, once again lamenting how frail this body was. He was only sixteen, yet his physical fitness was worse than that of some men in their forties.

Picking up his manuscript, he blew gently on the still-wet ink before carefully putting it away. His morning’s productivity had been impressive—nearly five thousand words written. At this rate, he could accumulate fifty thousand words within a week.

Since The Rise of a Dynasty was intended as a serialized long novel, he couldn’t update it weekly like Looking Down on Humans Through a Rat’s Eyes. For this project, his standard was daily updates. That would be a heavy burden on his weak body, so the only way was to stockpile as much draft material as possible.

Given its direct and exciting style, The Rise of a Dynasty obviously didn’t fit the tone of The Literary Gazette. This time, Le Jing planned to adopt a new pen name and submit it to another paper.

He had already chosen one: The Beiping Novel Gazette, a local Beiping newspaper that serialized many popular novels.

In his spare time, he had browsed its content. The paper’s range could only be described as eclectic: from melodramatic romances of the Mandarin Ducks and Butterflies school, to grand historical epics in the style of Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Water Margin, to tales of heroic outlaws. Le Jing even noticed early wuxia-style stories similar to those of Huanzhu Louzhu. In fact, later generations of Master Jin’s martial arts novels were also inspired by Huanzhu Louzhu and others of that era.

From this, it was clear that Le Jing’s articles were the perfect fit for their newspaper.

After putting down his pen, Le Jing went to the dining room to eat, but the moment he saw the dishes, he frowned. Five dishes and a soup, with both meat and vegetables—it looked plentiful enough, but the smell alone was bland.

The Zhou family had only been refugees fleeing famine. They usually didn’t have enough to eat, so expecting Zhou Da’s wife to have good cooking skills was clearly asking too much. Her culinary ability was limited to making sure the food was cooked through. Besides, there weren’t nearly as many seasonings available as in later generations, so one could imagine the taste. Even though in recent days Le Jing had occasionally given Zhou’s wife some pointers, cooking skills couldn’t be mastered overnight. Le Jing wasn’t particularly picky about food, but he was already considering finding another cook.

Having been exhausted all morning, Le Jing had no appetite for the unappetizing dishes. With a wave of his hand, he turned to the little girl holding her bowl and said, “Come on, brother will take you out to eat at a restaurant.”

Li Shuran asked hesitantly, “But what about all this food…”

“Let Zhou Da’s family eat it.”

Li Shuran was still uneasy. “It’s not even a holiday… going out to eat is too extravagant.”

Le Jing froze, then began quietly reflecting. Ever since arriving in Beiping, he had first fallen gravely ill, then shut himself away to write while recuperating. Meanwhile, Li Shuran had to attend school. Normally, the little girl was considerate of his health and never asked to go out to play. The two siblings hadn’t really gone out to enjoy themselves at all. She had become timid and overly frugal, probably frightened by his serious illness.

“It’s just one meal. We can afford this much,” Le Jing said deliberately with a careless tone. “Your brother has earned quite a lot from writing these days. It’s time to enjoy it a little.”

Li Shuran still looked worried but didn’t argue further.

This time, Le Jing intended to properly take Li Shuran out, to stroll and play. Simply put, he was planning to splurge. He had saved nearly three hundred silver dollars from his manuscripts over the past days. It wasn’t a fortune, but more than enough for a bit of luxury. He realized he hadn’t paid enough attention to Li Shuran and had let her grow up a bit petty-minded. In his eyes, money wasn’t the issue, but one’s spirit and vision were vital—those determined a person’s future scope and accomplishments.

So as soon as they went out, Le Jing had a rickshaw pull them directly to an international grand hotel. Standing at the entrance, Li Shuran was nearly stunned by the extravagant décor, and the blond, blue-eyed foreign waiters coming and going made her especially nervous.

She tugged carefully at Le Jing’s sleeve, blushing with embarrassment. “Brother, this place is way too expensive…”

Le Jing took her hand, his voice soft but firm: “Chin up. There’s nothing to fear. This place may be expensive, but we can afford it.”

With composure, he walked in with the little girl, following the waiter to their seats. He ordered confidently from the menu in fluent English. Under his calm influence, Li Shuran gradually relaxed. Though she still looked a little awkward, she was no longer timid.

When the appetizers arrived, Le Jing naturally began teaching her Western dining etiquette. He also deliberately told a few jokes, successfully making her laugh and easing the tension.

While the siblings were talking and laughing, the words “The Watchman” drifted to Le Jing’s ears.

Both of them fell silent at once. They listened—the two guests at the table behind them were discussing his articles.

“In my opinion, this The Watchman is quite cunning. Look at what he writes—all sensitive or taboo topics. Isn’t he just trying to get famous?”

“Brother Zichen, you’re right. I think that The Watchman is nothing more than an opportunist. His works will never make it to the halls of elegance—they’ll only circulate in the brothels of the Eight Hutongs.”

The two exchanged a laugh, their words becoming more and more indecent.

“I say, this The Watchman must be a lecher himself. That story about the young courtesan—probably written for one of his mistresses!”

“Exactly! That article made half the prostitutes in the Eight Hutongs cry. If The Watchman visits a brothel now, the women might even pay him instead!”

The more shamelessly they spoke, the more Le Jing found it amusing. These two sour young men were practically dripping with jealousy. Since ancient times, China had always had this paradox: men would despise prostitutes with one hand, yet boast about winning their favor with the other. Courtesans were seen as some sort of glorious “decoration” of masculine charm.

What did surprise him, though, was that his article had become so popular among prostitutes. Quite a few had truly understood it—that was a pleasant revelation.

Le Jing had a good mindset and didn’t care about others’ petty words, but Li Shuran, being so young, was flushed with anger. Her eyes filled with tears as she trembled, “They…”

“You’re talking nonsense!” A crisp, clear rebuke cut her off. “I will not allow you to slander Mr. Watchman like that!”

Le Jing turned curiously to look. A glamorous woman in a bright red qipao had stood up from the next table, her high heels clacking as she strode with imposing confidence to confront the two men who had been speaking ill of him.

The two men froze, glancing at each other. One cupped his hands mockingly and asked, “May I ask, madam, what is your relationship with The Watchman?”

“No relationship at all.” The woman lifted her chin proudly, her red lips curving into a cold smile. “I simply admire his character.”

Brother Zichen sneered. “Since you have no relation to him, what right do you have to interfere with our speech? Our mouths belong to us. Don’t you think you’re being too domineering?”

The woman snorted coldly. “You falsely slander a gentleman’s name. Am I not allowed to act out of righteousness and defend him?”

“You call him a gentleman, but I say he’s nothing more than a rat hiding in the gutter! Why else would he cower behind anonymity, too afraid to show his face?”

“You! That’s only because the gentleman is modest! Do you think everyone is as petty and fame-hungry as you?” She gave him a scornful look from head to toe and mocked, “Sneaking around, badmouthing others behind their backs—you’re not even worthy to carry his shoes!”

The man who had been silent all along suddenly spoke up: “Since this lady defends The Watchman so passionately, could it be… that you are also one of the Eight Hutongs’ women?”

Such a remark was the most vicious insult to any woman of the Republic era. But the lady simply tucked a strand of curled hair behind her ear and gave a bewitching smile. “My stage name is Bai Shaoyao. And sir, you do look awfully familiar—perhaps you are a frequent guest of one of my sisters?”

This courtesan was none other than Bai Shaoyao, the famed prostitute who had sent a letter to Le Jing just days before!