CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 37 Writing in the Republic Era (36)

Early Saturday morning, Yang Jinglun came rushing over, full of excitement, and couldn’t wait to announce:

“Sir, the publishing house has decided to reprint your anthology!”

He exclaimed joyfully, “Those people who scold you every day in the newspapers—none of their own works can sell, so how do they even have the face to criticize yours?”

Le Jing was stunned. So soon? He remembered that the publisher’s first print run was ten thousand copies. It had only been a week, and they were already sold out? In later generations, ten thousand might sound trivial, since bestsellers sold in the millions. But in this Republic era—when literacy rates were so low and intellectuals were as rare as pandas—being able to sell ten thousand copies in a single week was already a small miracle.

Seeing Le Jing’s doubt, Yang Jinglun asked confidently, “Sir, you haven’t read the papers these past few days, have you?”

Le Jing nodded.

He had been too busy with schoolwork lately. Before he transmigrated, Li Jingran had already been in his second year of high school. Li Jingran’s junior high grades weren’t bad, but once he entered high school, he fell in with the wrong crowd, unable to resist the temptations of the world, and quickly degenerated into a hedonistic playboy dabbling in prostitution, gambling, and drugs. In other words, Li Jingran had wasted his entire high school career, learning nothing.

Now that Le Jing was repeating the second year, he naturally had to work twice as hard to catch up. Forget newspapers—he even thought eating meals was a waste of time.

So Yang Jinglun chuckled: “No wonder you didn’t know. General Xue really loves your Memoirs of a Courtesan. Not only did he book entire theaters three days in a row to watch it with his subordinates and friends, but he’s also been singing its praises privately. You know how it goes—when the one above loves something, those below will love it even more. In ancient times, when the King of Chu favored slender waists, countless women starved themselves to death in the palace. And now, with General Xue’s love for your story, the bookstores are selling out. You’ve really caught the east wind of General Xue’s favor!”

As soon as he said this, he realized the ambiguous implication and quickly added, “Of course, it’s mainly because your writing is outstanding, that’s why it sells so well.”

Strictly speaking, his earlier words had already crossed a line. If the author were even slightly aloof, he might have taken offense. Yang Jinglun cautiously observed Mr. Li’s face and saw only a thoughtful expression, no trace of irritation. Relieved, he laughed inwardly at his own nervousness. Mr. Li’s magnanimity and breadth of mind were far beyond those pretentious authors who cared only for their so-called “purity.”

After some small talk, Yang Jinglun finally brought up the real reason for his visit:

“Sir, it’s been nearly a month now. Have you decided on a new pen name for your next serialization?”

Could Le Jing admit that he had been so immersed in his studies he had completely forgotten?

As the saying goes, “Dropping updates feels good once, but never updating feels good forever.” Ever since his pen name The Watchman was banned, he only had to write 3,000 words a day for The Rise of the Dynasty. Because he had already laid out a complete outline in his mind, he only needed two hours a day to write, and he spent the rest of his time studying. After all, he didn’t want to be smacked on the hand by Mrs. Bai for neglecting his studies. That would be both humiliating and dangerous—if his hand was injured, how would he keep writing and earning a living?

So, facing his editor’s urging, Le Jing smiled with confidence:

“I already have some ideas. I just need to refine them a bit more. Give me a few more days, and I’ll have a manuscript.”

Trusting in Le Jing’s usual reliability, Yang Jinglun believed him immediately, leaving in high spirits with the sweet anticipation of being the very first reader of his new work.

Originally, Le Jing had planned to go to the city library that afternoon to borrow books. But now, he had no choice but to stay home and seriously draft his new work.

Yet the preciousness of plans lies in how easily they change. That afternoon, Editor-in-Chief Wang of the Beiping Novel Gazette came to visit, bringing not only himself but also a large “gift”—about a hundred letters from readers.

“These are some representative letters we’ve selected from the editorial office. When you have time, could you reply to them?”

Le Jing: …

He sighed inwardly but smiled politely. “Alright, I’ll reply as soon as I can.”

The readership of The Rise of the Dynasty was incredibly broad, covering all walks of life. By reading their letters, he could catch fleeting glimpses into their lives, which in turn enriched his writing material. He was actually quite happy to open reader letters.

One of them read:

Respected Sir,

I am a dockworker, without much education, hardly literate. If there are errors in this letter, I beg your forgiveness.

I usually hate reading. Just looking at dense blocks of text gives me headaches. But one day, I happened to hear a teacher reading chapters of The Rise of the Dynasty on the street, and I was completely captivated. I’ve never heard such a fascinating and thrilling story!

Since then, I’ve been desperate to read each new installment. I read with a dictionary at hand, looking up words as I go. Because of this, I’ve learned many new characters and gained much knowledge. All of this, I owe to your book!

Interest is the best teacher.

Le Jing remembered when he was in elementary school. At that time, the seventh Harry Potter book had just been released in the UK. A neighbor’s academically poor older sister had been so eager to know the ending that she forced herself through the English original with a dictionary. In the process, her English grades skyrocketed, going from the bottom of the class to the top thirty.

If The Rise of the Dynasty could inspire even one person to develop a love for learning, then the novel had succeeded. Looking at the sender’s name, he was surprised—it was someone he knew: Liao Fang, the same man who, under Nantang’s orders, had once tried to climb his wall at night, only to be bitten by his dogs. Le Jing had given him some money for medicine, and never saw him again. Who would have thought he would become a reader?

Le Jing also recalled the letter he had received from his cannon-fodder younger brother Li Jingliang. Was he under some strange “buff” that turned all cannon-fodder into fanboys? Or had he not been cast in Qingwen’s tragic script, but instead in some harem-favorite protagonist script?

He chuckled at the thought and wrote back:

“From my perspective, your writing is already quite good. If my works can help you learn and grow, then they have meaning. I look forward to seeing you achieve greater things in the future.”

Not long after, he opened another letter that deeply moved him.

Dear Mr. Lin Zhongqi,

I am Wei Chenxi, head of Xiahe Township. On behalf of our villagers, I send you this letter of gratitude.

Many people in Xiahe Township are illiterate, so I often read the newspaper aloud to them. Over the years, I have read many serialized novels from the Beiping Novel Gazette. Most villagers are faithful listeners, but usually, they forget the stories right after. Your The Rise of the Dynasty, however, is different!

Never have I read such an imaginative, fascinating novel that stirs so much wonder. Through your story, I first learned what “time-travel” means, what it is to flow backward through history. I realized for the first time that other worlds might exist, worlds with different histories and civilizations. Just imagining them makes me yearn to see them myself!

But soon, I realized your novel contained more value than I had imagined. Though it grows like a fantastical tree, it is rooted firmly in the soil of reality, nourished by the wisdom of Chinese civilization. 

You taught readers how to distinguish edible from poisonous wild vegetables, how to cook locusts as food, how to find water, dig wells, build canals, set traps for hunting… You painstakingly described these so-called “trivial” details. I must confess, at first I dismissed them, thinking you were just padding the word count for more payment. Out of intellectual arrogance, I ignored the practical knowledge you were sharing.

If not for this year’s autumn harvest—when many villages suffered food shortages due to drought, yet one village thrived because they dug a well and irrigated fields following your methods—I might never have realized my mistake.

Since then, I learned that many villagers have foraged wild vegetables using your methods, some have hunted successfully, and even locusts have become a rare delicacy on our tables. Villagers even dig up locust eggs together, which, when fried without oil, taste especially delicious and are loved by everyone.

So in my eyes, The Rise of the Dynasty is no longer just leisure reading—it enlightens the people, saves lives. For this alone, you deserve to be revered as a sage! You may think my words are exaggerated, but to me, a sage is one who ‘sets his heart for Heaven and Earth, establishes life for the people, inherits the lost teachings, and brings peace for all generations.’ Anyone who achieves even one of these can be a sage. In my heart, you are such a sage.”

After finishing the letter, Le Jing was overcome with mixed feelings.

What is a sage?

In traditional Chinese, the character “聖” (sage) combines “ear” (to hear and understand the truth), “mouth” (to spread doctrine and enlighten others), and “king” (to govern with virtue). Han Yu once wrote in Origin of the Way: “In ancient times, men suffered from many ills. Then came the sage, who taught them the ways of life and survival.”

Le Jing didn’t think he had achieved anything so great, nor was he arrogant enough to compare himself with the ancient masters. He had only done what any modern person—accustomed to abundant food, comfort, freedom, and democracy—would naturally do if placed in this world. To him, there was nothing praiseworthy about it.

And yet, he still felt a quiet joy.

Not because of thanks, which were intangible, but because his work had, in its own way, helped fight against this harsh, chaotic era.

Smiling a little self-indulgently, he thought:

Maybe, just maybe, his small efforts really could nudge the great wheel of civilization forward, even if only by a few millimeters.