CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 20 Writing in the Republic Era (19)

For an author, being able to personally witness their readers step up and clap back at haters was an immensely satisfying experience. No matter the occasion, seeing people who liked you stand up and defend you was always something that brought joy.

Le Jing removed the napkin hanging around his neck (it looked a bit silly eating melons with it on) and began to happily watch this stormy quarrel that was about to break out.

The man froze for a moment, apparently not expecting Bai Shaoyao to admit so bluntly. Since he knew Bai Shaoyao wasn’t a virtuous woman, he no longer bothered with polite words. “I’ve never slept with a wh*re before. No wonder you’re so eager to defend The Watchman. What? Did I hit the nail on the head when I said you sl*ts actually pay him to sleep with you, so now you’re embarrassed and furious?”

Bai Shaoyao blinked, but instead of being angry, she gave the man a subtle, unreadable smile.

“Bullshit! How dare you talk to my woman like that—one more word and I’ll blow your brains out!”

A middle-aged man suddenly stood up from a nearby seat and strode over, his face full of fury. He carried an innate air of authority that made him stand out immediately.

The man with glasses visibly flinched at the murderous aura rolling off him, but he still forced himself to talk tough: “Well, well, so here comes the one backing up this wh*re. Sir, let me give you some advice. This bi*ch’s arms have been pillows for a thousand men. For all you know, she might even be using your money to keep that pretty boy The Watchman. I’m only telling you for your own good—don’t fail to appreciate my kind intentions.”

At that, Bai Shaoyao turned her face, and almost instantly her eyes brimmed with tears. Her slender brows knitted slightly, her expression pitiful and delicate like pear blossoms in the rain. She threw herself into the man’s arms and sobbed: “Sir, this lowly body of mine being insulted is nothing worth fussing over. But for those two wretches to humiliate you because of me… Sir, let me just die. I cannot allow a wh*re like me to sully your honor!”

Though her mouth said she wanted to die, her body stayed firmly in the middle-aged man’s embrace without budging an inch.

The man’s heart ached at the sight. His expression softened with pity as he gently wiped away her tears and murmured: “My darling, don’t you dare say such things again. I redeemed you to be my concubine, to live well and eat the finest food, not for you to seek death.”

Then his tiger-like eyes flashed coldly as he swept a murderous glance at the two men opposite. With a chilling sneer, he launched into a barrage of insults.

The two men had tried to maintain some semblance of scholarly decorum, so even their scolding had been relatively “refined.” But this middle-aged man had no such scruples. His vocabulary was astonishingly rich, his mastery of cursing so spectacular that Le Jing was left in awe. Compared to this man’s ferocious tirade, every vulgar quarrel Le Jing had seen in his later life—shrews screaming in the streets and all—seemed like child’s play.

The two men were clearly scholars judging from their dress. Never in their lives had they encountered such a brutal, relentless verbal assault. They were stunned, and even when they tried to retort, their feeble words were instantly drowned under the storm of curses, leaving them unable to lift their heads.

Such commotion naturally couldn’t escape the notice of the restaurant staff. Soon a manager-looking fellow rushed over, sweating profusely. Only when the man finally stopped—satisfied after cursing to his heart’s content—did the manager bow and scrape with an ingratiating smile: “General Xue, what happened here? These two blind fools have offended you. I’ll have them thrown out immediately. Please, calm your anger, calm your anger.”

Le Jing almost burst out laughing. He thought, If those two had a chance to redo things, they would definitely regret ever opening their mouths to insult Bai Shaoyao. A prostitute appearing in such a luxurious restaurant could only mean she was accompanying a patron. And anyone who could afford to dine here was either wealthy or powerful. As for ‘General Xue’—those three words carried a weight that couldn’t be underestimated.

Since his transmigration, Le Jing had often seen this name in the newspapers. Even in later generations, this warlord was famous as a patriotic general—though admittedly, his temper wasn’t exactly good.

Sure enough, the two men’s faces changed drastically at the name. Brother Zichen stammered in shock: “General Xue? Which General Xue?”

General Xue sneered, “Hell if I know—besides me, Xue Meng, who else in China would dare call himself ‘General Xue’?”

He didn’t even glance at the manager, who was bowing like a shrimp. With a wave of his hand, he ordered his adjutant: “Drag these two out and deal with them.”

The two men who had been shouting moments ago instantly turned pale as death. Their legs shook violently, nearly giving way. The adjutant grabbed one by each arm and effortlessly dragged them forward like two helpless chicks.

Their pig-like wails echoed through the restaurant: “No! You can’t! Xue Meng, you can’t kill me! Even if you’re a warlord, you can’t silence the voice of the people!”

The farther the adjutant dragged them, the louder and more pitiful their cries became: “Xue Meng, you vicious brute! You’ll die a horrible death! Retribution will come for you!”

Moments later, the sharp stench of urine spread through the air—one of them had wet himself.

The restaurant fell into dead silence. The guests who had been quietly chatting earlier froze like cicadas in winter, not daring to breathe too loudly. No one was foolish enough to plead for the two men—lest they accidentally provoke the wrath of Xue Meng, that living demon.

Once the adjutant dragged those two men away and their shouts could no longer be heard in the dining hall, Xue Meng stroked his round chin and burst out laughing: “What? Could it be that those two brats really thought I was going to kill them? I was just teaching them a lesson! After all, I’m not some bloodthirsty maniac.”

He cupped his hands toward the guests around him, who were all pretending to keep their eyes down, and put on a kindly smile. Yet, the lingering fierceness between his brows betrayed him.  “Sorry to have disturbed everyone. How about this—today it’s my treat! Whatever you eat and drink, it all goes on my tab. Enjoy yourselves!”

Immediately, people played along by clapping, loudly praising Commander Xue’s generosity and magnanimity. As for the two who had just been dragged away, no one gave them another thought.

Bai Shaoyao, too, coyly collapsed into Commander Xue’s arms, showering him with over-the-top flattery that cost her nothing. Her rainbow-like compliments made Xue Meng, who just a moment ago still radiated killing intent, beam with joy. The hardened steel of his temper melted into softness; he called her “sweetheart” and “darling” over and over, looking utterly besotted.

Indeed, in this era, one really couldn’t become a famed courtesan without some real tricks up her sleeve.

“Brother, what’s wrong?” Li Shuran quietly asked, noticing her brother’s subtle expression.

Le Jing brushed it off vaguely. How could he tell Li Shuran that just now, he suddenly had the illusion that Bai Shaoyao was using another man’s power to “keep” him, as though he had reached the pinnacle of being a pampered pretty boy? The feeling was just too strange. Better not to say anything and risk shattering the image she had of him.

He shook his head, dismissing it as nothing more than a passing episode.

After a week of preparation, Le Jing’s The Rise of a Dynasty finally had fifty thousand words saved up. He sealed thirty thousand words in an envelope and officially submitted it to Beiping Novel Gazette.

But another tough trial awaited him.

Elementary student Li Shuran had just finished her final exams, and as her only guardian, Le Jing had to attend her parent–teacher conference.

Who would’ve thought—even after traveling back more than a hundred years, he still couldn’t escape parent–teacher meetings? But at least he’d evolved: this time, he wasn’t attending for himself, but for someone else.

Still, no matter how precocious he was, Le Jing was just a teenager. To attend a conference as the “parent” of a sister only three years younger than him… anyone who didn’t know better would probably think Li Shuran had done poorly and didn’t dare let her real parents come. If it were a hundred years later, some teacher might even complain that the stand-in she’d “hired online” was way too unprofessional.

In truth, Li Shuran had done excellently this term—third place out of thirty students in her class. The girl was ambitious, though, and sulked because she hadn’t taken first. But in Le Jing’s eyes, this was already an outstanding achievement. After all, starting from when he was eight, his own grades had stayed strictly average.

What had happened that year again?

Oh, he remembered.

That was the year he saw with his own eyes how his mother brutally killed their family’s dog of seven years, then cheerfully dismembered the body and buried it in the neighborhood garden. She had smiled so brightly back then.

From that moment on, he knew—his mother was a misfit not tolerated by this world. And so he had to hide himself, or he’d be killed too.

He had actually been quite fond of that dog. Such a pity.

Glancing at his watch, Le Jing realized it was getting late. He needed to get ready. Wanting to look more mature, he had ordered a custom-made suit that had just been delivered that day. He hadn’t tried it on yet.

He put on the dark blue suit and knotted the tie. When he looked in the mirror, he nearly burst out laughing. Suits of this era hadn’t yet adopted the tailored, slim-fit design of later generations. They were all made baggy and broad, with thick shoulder pads to exaggerate height and power. If he were an adult, it might have worked. But with his youthful, delicate features inherited from his mother, his babyish face made it obvious he was still just a boy. Wearing the oversized suit, he looked like a child who had sneaked into his father’s wardrobe. The sight was hilarious.

Though it was considered fashionable now, Le Jing had no interest in forcing himself. He took it off and instead chose a pale-blue long robe. Compared to the ill-fitting suit, the robe suited him far better. Fine, that would do. Straightening the collar, he called for Li Shuran, and together they headed out in style.

As the saying goes: ambition is not measured by age. And as Le Jing himself declared—neither are parent–teacher conferences. Since he had already set his mind on attending in place of Li Tingye, as Shuran’s “father,” there was no need to dwell on his age.

They arrived at Enlightenment Middle School around two o’clock. The conference wouldn’t begin until three, so they were early.

“Brother, let me show you around my school.”

Le Jing nodded. “Where’s the library? I’d like to read there for a bit.”

Enlightenment Middle School must have been the education bureau’s darling, because its library was enormous. The moment he stepped inside, Le Jing was stunned by the sight of crowds of students sitting cross-legged on the floor, engrossed in their books. Such an intense atmosphere of study was something almost impossible to find in the later era.

He recalled how, in the future, a great scholar reminisced about his days at Southwest Associated University, saying that he and his classmates would rush to the library before dawn to claim seats, wearing down the doorsteps with their eagerness.

In this era, studying was bound to the destiny of the nation itself. “To study for the rise of China” was no empty slogan. It was this spirit that, within a few decades, would lead hundreds of thousands of young people to lay down their pens and take up arms; that would give rise to the saying: “An inch of land, an inch of blood; a hundred thousand youth, a hundred thousand soldiers.”

For some reason, Le Jing suddenly thought of the mocking verse he’d once written for Nantang: “In Japan’s sweet-smelling toilets, I’d gladly be a happy maggot.” But in this setting, he felt like rewriting it as another line of poetry:

“Amid the sweet fragrance of books, I’d gladly be a happy patriot.”

“Our library was funded by the government,” Li Shuran explained, “so it’s a public library, free to everyone. Anyone can get a library card and read here, though you can’t take books home…”

But Le Jing had already tuned out the rest. His eyes had caught a notice posted on the side wall—about the library hiring staff.