CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 30 Writing in the Republic Era (29)

Yang Jinglun felt that perhaps he had never truly known Li Jingran.

He watched in silence as Li Jingran, without any resistance, allowed himself to be taken away by the police. In his ears once again echoed the young man’s resolute reply from that day:

“I only did what I believed was right, and I also have the courage to bear all the consequences. Whatever blows and retaliation they deal me will only make me more certain that I am in the right.”

So… this was what he meant by the courage to bear all consequences?

If before, he could still dismiss the boy’s bold words as the recklessness of a calf unafraid of tigers, now he could not. The boy had proved with his actions that his words were never empty.

Doing something without knowing the consequences, and doing it even after knowing what the consequences will be—these are two completely different things. The former is the rashness of the ignorant, while the latter is the lonely bravery of one who says, “Though there be ten thousand against me, I will go forward still.”

That young man, submissive and without resistance, accepted the fate that awaited him—only so that more people could rise up against fate.

Yang Jinglun felt regret, because he had never truly seen Li Jingran for who he was. But he also felt pride, because at last he did.

Just like Mr. Tan, the youth named Li Jingran was also a martyr. He lived for his beliefs, and he was willing to die for them.

It was precisely because he understood this that he could only watch in silence as the police took him away. He could not stop it—for to do so would have been an insult and a betrayal of the young man’s unwavering faith.

“Sir, sir, please save my brother! Please, save him!” Li Shuran, panic-stricken and weeping over her brother’s departure, suddenly caught sight of Yang Jinglun standing silently nearby. As if grabbing hold of the last straw of hope, she clutched desperately at his leg, fell to her knees, and cried out in anguish.

Awakened from his thoughts, Yang Jinglun quickly helped her up, gently wiped away the tears on her face, and replied with firm resolve:  “I will definitely bring him back.”

He would never allow Li Jingran to meet the same fate as Mr. Tan.

There were far too few in this world who would persist in doing what was right. Each time one was lost, humanity suffered a loss. A man like Mr. Li should shine brilliantly, be revered by the masses—not be met with such a tragic destiny.

…

Even though Le Jing had already steeled himself before coming, and he knew that the prison conditions in the Republic would surely be terrible, the sight before him still deeply jarred his sensitive nerves.

Even though it was broad daylight, the cell was dark and gloomy. Relying on the faint light filtering in through a small window high up on the wall, Le Jing could just barely make out the rough layout of the room. His cell was a single-occupancy room, around four to five square meters. Inside, apart from a bed, there was only a foul-smelling chamber pot. The mottled, damp, pitch-black walls had unknown things stuck to them, exuding a nauseating stench.

The so-called bed was nothing more than a layer of straw, with no “luxuries” like pillows or blankets. What made Le Jing breathe a sigh of relief, however, was that the straw seemed to have been freshly changed. Not only was it clean, but it even carried the scent of sunlight.

But such fresh straw appearing in a place like this was far from normal.

In fact, when the police arrested him, they had been surprisingly polite. They hadn’t been rough with him, nor had they used any torture. The whole time, it was only one seemingly amiable police chief who asked Le Jing to do something.

What he was asked to do was simple.

He was to publish an article in the newspapers, admitting his mistake—confessing that he had spoken recklessly out of youthful ignorance, which had led to very bad consequences. He was to express his deep remorse, and, better yet, change his tune by publishing articles in favor of opium smoking. If he did so, not only would he avoid imprisonment, but he would also receive a large sum of money.

Naturally, Le Jing refused.

And so he was thrown into prison. The once-kindly police chief’s face immediately turned ferocious as he warned him to think it over carefully: “When you figure it out, you can come out!”

It was clear they wanted to teach Le Jing—who dared refuse their “kind offer”—a bitter lesson. So the terrible condition of the cell was to be expected. And in such a filthy, crude prison, the clean, sun-warmed straw on the bed seemed all the more suspicious.

Still, no matter what scheme lurked behind it, being alive was what mattered most. This was about what he had expected. After all, if they had truly wanted to execute him on trumped-up charges, no matter how powerful they were, they still had to consider appearances and public opinion. Once the people’s resentment was ignited, it would not be so easily extinguished.

“Big brother, what did they lock you up for?” a fellow prisoner in the neighboring cell asked.

“Me?” Le Jing chuckled softly. “I wrote articles in the paper advocating for the banning of opium. So they threw me in here. What about you?”

The prisoner was stunned, as if he hadn’t expected such an answer. Then, stammering, he replied, “M-me… I… stole something…” His voice grew smaller and smaller. After a moment of silence, he suddenly said solemnly, “Brother, you’re a good man.”

Le Jing asked, “Why do you say that? This is our first time meeting.”

The prisoner gave a sheepish grin. “I’m just a rough, uneducated man. But I know that opium is a poison. You want to ban it, so you must be a good man.”

Le Jing fell silent, while the prisoner began to ramble on.

“My father… he smoked himself to ruin, sold off all our land. My mother couldn’t survive anymore, so she ran away with someone else. I don’t blame her. My father wasn’t worth anything. If not for him, our family wouldn’t have become so poor, and I wouldn’t have had to work as a hired laborer for others. Truth is, I never wanted to steal. My mother taught me stealing was wrong. But…” He gave a bitter laugh and muttered, “What choice did I have? That landlord’s family ate fine white flour every day, but they wouldn’t even give me a coarse bun. I was starving, so I… I couldn’t help it…”

Le Jing suddenly realized that this man was probably not much older than himself.

After all, the average life expectancy in the Republic was only thirty-five years.

Since he had worked as a hired laborer, he couldn’t be too old—at most in his twenties.

In that tiny cell, through the words of his neighboring prisoner, Le Jing caught a glimpse of the suffering of this world. The deeper he came to understand it, the deeper his disgust for the current society grew.

The pursuit of a better life is an instinct of humanity. Any attempt to twist, extinguish, or prevent this pursuit is a crime against humanity itself.

When the poor can only fill their stomachs by stealing, then that society is already rotten to the core, beyond salvation—it must be destroyed and rebuilt.

Now, with his imprisonment, he had thrown the fiercest fuel onto the fire of this great “war.” All that remained was to see how the flames outside would spread.

After all, only rights fought for with one’s own hands are truly cherished.

He could only hope they wouldn’t disappoint him.