CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 21 Writing in the Republic Era (20)

The moment he saw the job announcement, Le Jing was truly moved.

If someone were to ask what the most powerful profession during the Republic of China was, Le Jing would, without hesitation, answer: librarian.

After all, the very foundation of New China was built by a librarian who had been owed wages, together with his comrades.

But Le Jing wasn’t applying to become a librarian in order to pay tribute to that great figure. What really touched his heart was the environment here—and the vast collection of books.

Human beings, after all, are social creatures. Staying alone for too long in a cramped space could easily give rise to all sorts of psychological issues. Although Le Jing thought of himself as the “black sheep” among humans—a natural loner who enjoyed solitude—being cooped up in his room writing manuscripts all day was still unbearably dull.

On top of that, his new serialized work required a great deal of research. Thus, becoming a librarian was a perfectly fitting choice. He could sneak in some writing during work hours, earn extra money while fulfilling his main responsibilities, and achieve three goals at once—reading, studying, and writing. Nothing could be more ideal.

So, he made up his mind: after the parent-teacher meeting, he would apply for the librarian position here.

The parent-teacher meeting went smoothly. At first, Le Jing had been worried that his young age might cause the teachers to doubt him. But later he realized his concern had been unnecessary.

He saw a young man leading along a child who looked about three or four years old. At first, Le Jing sighed inwardly that the Republic of China really did marry and have children early—even older elementary school students were already bringing their own kids to meetings.

But then the young man bowed respectfully to the teacher and said, pointing at the child, “Sir, this is my little uncle. My parents are busy, so they asked my little uncle to attend the parent-teacher meeting for me.”

The little child beamed, showing his tiny teeth, and said in a childish voice, “Hello, teacher~”

The female teacher: …

Compared to this unusual pair, Le Jing attending the meeting on behalf of his younger sister was nothing out of the ordinary.

After the meeting ended, the teacher mentioned something to him.

“Skipping a grade?”

“Yes. The top student in the class had already brought this up before, so I wanted to ask whether Li Shuran has ever thought about it too. With her learning ability, she’s more than capable of moving up to third grade.”

Le Jing replied, “I’ll need to go back and discuss this with her before I can give you an answer.”

The teacher nodded readily. “Of course, everything must be based on the student’s own wishes.”

After the meeting, Le Jing told Li Shuran about his decision to apply for the librarian position. Her face flushed red with excitement:

“Doesn’t that mean I’ll get to see big brother even when I’m at school?! That’s wonderful!”

“It’s not as good as you think.” Le Jing said half-jokingly. “If you slack off in the library, I’ll scold you.”

Li Shuran stuck out her tongue. “Even if you don’t say anything, I’ll still be there every day. With so many books here, wouldn’t it be a waste not to read them?”

It seemed that both siblings firmly believed Le Jing would definitely become a librarian here.

For Li Shuran, it was pure faith in her brother.

As for Le Jing…

“What? You said you only want three yuan a month?” The person in charge, who had just politely declined Le Jing and suggested he look for another job, widened his eyes in shock, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re not joking, right?”

At this time, the monthly salary of an ordinary middle school librarian was generally around five yuan. At Peking University, since it was a higher institution, the salary was eight yuan. Yet even so, the government often delayed paying teachers and staff (including librarians). Many prominent figures had voiced their complaints in diaries and letters, but most only complained. Only one person had the guts to take real action—well, we all know the end result for the Republic government.

So, Le Jing’s request for just three yuan a month was extremely tempting for the person in charge.

Thus, even though Le Jing hadn’t even graduated from middle school and his highest qualification was only primary school, after a simple test proved he could read and write and wasn’t illiterate, the person in charge cheerfully hired him on the spot, telling him he could start immediately.

On the way back, Le Jing mentioned the idea of skipping grades to Li Shuran. The little girl was both excited and uncertain. “I only just started school and haven’t learned much. If I skip grades, will I be able to keep up?”

Le Jing, however, wasn’t worried. No one understood Li Shuran’s learning ability better than him. In terms of raw intelligence, she wasn’t exactly a genius, but she had something many geniuses lacked—extraordinary focus, diligence, and an insatiable thirst for knowledge.

With these traits, Li Shuran was a natural-born academic seedling. That was why, starting from zero, she had been able to complete her basic enlightenment in just four months. Le Jing believed that even if she skipped grades, she would quickly adapt.

That was what he thought, and that was what he told her. Hearing her brother’s rainbow-flavored praise, Li Shuran’s face turned hot red as she hugged her cheeks and giggled foolishly, completely lost in the moment.

The next day, Le Jing rose early. After tidying up, he set off with Li Shuran on the road to school.

The work of a librarian wasn’t heavy. All he had to do was register visitors and record books borrowed by teachers and staff. Since he was new, the task of helping people find books naturally fell to the senior librarians. As a junior, Le Jing humbly followed behind them to learn.

Literacy rates weren’t very high in those days, and there were already public libraries in the city. So, even though the Enlightenment Library was open to the public, most of its visitors were students from within the school or nearby schools. Once he got past the slightly busy entry period, Le Jing’s work was actually quite leisurely.

During his spare moments, he would brew himself a cup of tea. Surrounded by the curling fragrance of the tea, he would flip through “ancient books” from the late Qing Dynasty, the faint scent of ink still lingering on the pages. What a blissful life—one even the immortals would envy.

While Le Jing was enjoying his carefree days, the editorial office of Beiping Novel Gazette was in an uproar because of his work The Rise of the Dynasty. Calling it an “explosion” was no exaggeration.

Zhang Xiguan, the editor-in-chief of Beiping Novel Gazette, was already at the age of knowing destiny, and often joked that he had one foot in the coffin. Normally, he carried himself with great calm and composure, believing that such demeanor befitted his age.

That afternoon, he walked into the editorial office carrying a birdcage, stepping in with his usual solemn gait. He had planned to chat with the younger staff, to show a bit of elder-like maturity and excellence. But the moment he opened the door, he was stunned by the commotion inside.

His brilliant, talented, and (in his eyes) “cost-effective” editors were all huddled in a noisy circle, shoving and shouting as they argued. They had turned what was supposed to be a refined and quiet editorial office into something like a bustling street market.

Dizzy for a few seconds, Zhang’s voice rose eight degrees higher in fury: “What’s going on here? What’s going on here? Has everyone forgotten basic discipline?”

The originally noisy and chaotic office instantly fell silent after that furious shout. The editors, who had been on the verge of a brawl, suddenly realized how unbecoming their behavior was. Embarrassed, they quickly backed away from one another, though their eyes couldn’t help but drift back toward the person who had just been surrounded at the center of the chaos.

Following their gazes, Zhang Xiguan spotted one of the young men he had wanted to have a heart-to-heart with this time—Ping Yu. He was seated at a desk, tightly clutching the manuscript and devouring it hungrily, completely unaware of the death glare coming from Zhang Xiguan.

Zhang Xiguan frowned and barked, “Ping Yu!”

Silence.

“Ping Yu!!”

Without lifting his head, Ping Yu grumbled, “Aiya, can’t you stop bothering me? I’m reading a novel here!”

Zhang Xiguan took a deep breath, silently chanting to himself: I won’t get angry. Anger harms the body. At my age, I should be cultivating calmness and self-restraint.

Exhaling slowly, he convinced himself he was now a composed, steady elder. Smiling, he walked straight over to Ping Yu’s side and gently asked, “Is it good?”

Ping Yu: “Good!”

“If it’s good, why don’t you let me take a look?”

“I haven’t finished yet. Wait a—holy crap, Chief Editor?!”

Ping Yu had only blurted out “holy crap” out of habit to express shock, but when those words were followed by “Chief Editor,” the effect was very different. He realized with despair that Zhang Xiguan’s face was darkening by the second. With a glare, Zhang Xiguan snatched the manuscript straight from his hands. “Write me a ten-thousand-word self-reflection and hand it in later!”

Ping Yu’s face instantly fell. He could only watch, full of reluctant longing, as the Chief Editor walked off with the manuscript. He hadn’t even finished reading the novel yet…

The others who had been fighting over the manuscript earlier all let out sighs of regret. Someone consoled themselves, “It’s fine. This manuscript will be published sooner or later. We’ll get to read it eventually.”

Back in his office, Zhang Xiguan sat down and, out of curiosity, began reading the manuscript that had thrown the entire editorial office into chaos. What on earth could it contain to mesmerize everyone like that?

But after just a dozen lines, he froze in place.

The content described things he had never even heard of, yet it was endlessly fascinating. The author had imagined an astonishing tale—a university professor who time-traveled into the past! And what’s more, the dynasty he traveled to wasn’t one that had ever existed in history.

The protagonist, Xu Wangmu, was a talented but unrecognized university professor, brimming with knowledge yet unable to find an outlet. One day, while traveling in the rain, he was struck by lightning. When he awoke, he found himself lying in the very center of an altar, with crowds of kneeling commoners before him crying out: “This humble subject greets the Immortal Lord!”

Confused, Xu Wangmu sat up to see the people dressed in ancient clothing. But their outfits were peculiar—robes resembling the cross-collar wide sleeves of the Han dynasty, yet topped with square headscarves typical of the Ming. Even the architecture he glimpsed in the distance bore the style of the Tang dynasty.

Everything around him was bizarre.

He thought he must have died from the lightning strike, but instead he awoke upon this altar. Because of his extraordinary entrance, the villagers treated him as a deity descended from the heavens.

Xu Wangmu decided to play along. During his conversations with the villagers, he was stunned to learn the dynasty was called Da Hua, and the current era was the 18th year of Pingkang. Xu Wangmu racked his brain but could not recall any such nation or era in recorded history.

He further learned that Da Hua was suffering: foreign enemies threatened from without, and an unprecedented famine plagued it from within. The desperate villagers had turned to the divine for salvation—and Xu Wangmu, appearing on the altar, became their last hope. They begged him to conjure food for them.

Zhang Xiguan’s excitement grew higher and higher. He was desperate to know—what would Xu Wangmu do? How would he save the people? How would he survive in this era? What exactly was this dynasty? Would he ever return? And how on earth did he get from the Republic of China to here? So many questions swirled through his mind.

He hurriedly flipped to the next page—only to find the bare surface of his desk.

Blinking in a daze, he belatedly realized he had already finished the entire manuscript!

Meanwhile, poor Ping Yu—still scratching his head over the unfinished story—saw their usually dignified, sermon-loving Chief Editor storm back into the editorial office, drenched in sweat and completely uncomposed. Zhang Xiguan’s eyes bulged like bronze bells as he roared, “Where’s the rest of the manuscript?!”

“…What?”

Impatiently waving the stack of pages in his hand, the Chief Editor demanded, “I’m asking you—where are the rest of the pages?!”

Frustrated, Ping Yu replied, “There are no more. That’s everything the author sent us.” Then, unable to hold back his curiosity, he asked, “Chief Editor, which dynasty did Xu Wangmu end up in? How did he get there? Was it really some immortal magic?”

Zhang Xiguan’s expression was grim as he urgently pressed, “What about the sender’s address? Quick, give me the envelope!!”

Damn it! What happens next?! He had to find this author and get the answers!