CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 43 Writing in the Republic Era (42)

When the first chapter of Wandering Adventure was published in the Literary Gazette, it hardly made a ripple. That was only natural—after all, judging a serialized novel by just its opening chapter, one couldn’t see much of its substance. Moreover, “Wheatfield” was a brand-new pen name without any readership foundation, so the lukewarm response was perfectly normal. Le Jing accepted this calmly. On the contrary, Rise of the Dynasty had recently become explosively popular.

The reason was simple—the ongoing “city defense” arc struck a deep chord with many intellectuals.

The enemy army was at the gates, the county magistrate had fled, and the general in charge wanted to surrender. At this moment of mass panic, you, though a frail scholar without strength to truss a chicken, still stood up. You first calmed the townsfolk, then led the city’s soldiers to defend the walls for half a month without outside reinforcements. In the end, through wit and strategy, you routed the enemy and protected the people’s peace—thus winning eternal renown in history.

This was the ultimate fantasy of scholars from ancient times to the present! Who hadn’t once indulged in the dream of “reversing a collapsing tide, propping up a falling edifice”? Any man of letters had some yearning for achievements that would go down in history. That’s why this thrilling, heart-pounding city defense battle had readers both exhilarated and secretly delighted.

At first, the orthodox literary circles had taken a wait-and-see attitude toward Rise of the Dynasty. Its content was simply too novel. They had never seen this type of story before and couldn’t quite decide how to judge it.

To call it historical nihilism? But Dahua wasn’t an actual dynasty in history. To dismiss it as sheer fabrication? Yet when scrutinized, the plot held up as carefully constructed. To say the protagonist deceived the masses with tricks and theatrics? Yet everything the protagonist did embodied the word righteousness… For the Republic’s literary giants, steeped in the soil of realism and tragedy, how could they have ever encountered this “爽文” style (purely thrilling, trope-driven fiction) from later times?

Thus, the great masters were torn—they couldn’t pin down exactly what kind of work this was. And so, the orthodox literary establishment tacitly agreed to stay silent on Rise of the Dynasty.

But the recent city defense arc was simply too riveting, too compelling. Finally, one of the great masters couldn’t resist and, under a pseudonym, secretly published a book review. The moment it appeared, the entire literary circle of Beiping was thrown into an uproar.

Chief Editor Wang Xiguan happily rushed over to share the news with Le Jing:

“Sir, wonderful news! Mr. Chiyan has written a review of your Rise of the Dynasty! And just as your novel is about to be published! With Mr. Chiyan endorsing your work, it’s bound to sell like wildfire!”

This Chiyan was an old acquaintance of Le Jing’s. Back when his Memoirs of a Courtesan was adapted into a stage play and drew heavy criticism, it was none other than Mr. Chiyan who publicly supported him in the press. Le Jing had also carefully studied Chiyan’s famous essay Don’t Wake Those Pretending to Sleep.

In real life, Chiyan was a professor at Tsinghua University, and in later generations, he would be celebrated as a literary giant. And now, this very giant had written a review for his time-travel novel. In terms of later generations, this was like Master Mo × writing a review for Tang Brick—even fake news outlets wouldn’t dare to make up something so outrageous!

With a complicated and indescribable feeling, Le Jing opened the newspaper Wang Xiguan had brought—supposedly containing Chiyan’s review. The first thing that caught his eye was an article titled “This Era Needs More Xu Wangmu,” signed by: Qiushui.

Le Jing: ???

“This isn’t by Mr. Chiyan, is it?”

Wang Xiguan stroked his beard and chuckled, “That’s Chiyan’s new pen name.”

Le Jing was even more puzzled. “And how do you know it’s him?”

Wang Xiguan burst out laughing: “Isn’t it as obvious as lice on a bald head? Just read this article—the winding, roundabout style, the love of allegory and indirect satire. Even if he used ten pseudonyms, it would still be unmistakable! Anyone can see it’s Chiyan!”

Half skeptical, Le Jing read through the article, and had to admit Wang Xiguan was right. The style was undeniably Chiyan’s!

To think that in order to avoid being recognized, Mr. Chiyan had deliberately chosen a name completely opposite of his own—Qiushui (which even sounded like the name of a female writer at first glance)—and avoided his usual serious outlets like Chaoyang Daily and Literary Gazette, opting instead to publish in the more lighthearted Capital Evening Post. Such painstaking effort was enough to make one sigh with both admiration and pity.

Yet it was all for nothing.

He was exposed anyway.

To borrow a later-era comedy sketch line: “Kid, you think I won’t recognize you just because you put on a disguise?”

Chiyan wasn’t just exposed before Wang Xiguan—he was exposed before everyone in Beiping who knew him.

It was like a certain “anonymous” Mr. Zhou of later generations—no matter how many pseudonyms he used (even 181 of them), people would always unmask him one by one.

Some people’s literary style and thoughts shine as brightly as the stars—no disguise can hide them. What’s more, Chiyan hadn’t even disguised his style much. This only proved how unskilled he was at this whole “split identity” business.

Take Le Jing, for example—he had perfectly managed three different pseudonyms without ever being exposed to his readers (smug face).

So here was Mr. Chiyan, sneaking around under a pseudonym to review Le Jing’s pseudonymous novel. And in the end, only he was exposed and “publicly executed,” while Le Jing remained untouched. This contrast only highlighted how much better Le Jing was at “identity-splitting.”

Perhaps realizing he’d already been exposed, Chiyan completely gave up on pretending. The very next day, in Chaoyang Daily, Le Jing saw him openly using his main name, “Chiyan,” to write a review titled “Iron Horses and Frozen Rivers Enter My Dreams.”

This review abandoned his usual veiled, circuitous style. Instead, it was filled from beginning to end with fiery, straightforward praise—so exaggerated that Le Jing even began to suspect Chiyan must have been reviewing some other novel with the same title Rise of the Dynasty.

Here’s what Chiyan wrote in that review:

Do you know what came to my mind after reading the latest city defense chapters of Rise of the Dynasty?

I thought of the poem by Lu Fangweng:

The wind sweeps the rivers, rain darkens the villages,
Four mountains roar like surging seas.
Streamside firewood glows, barbarian rugs are warm,
I stay indoors with my tabby cat.
Prostrate in a lonely village, I do not lament,
I still long to guard the frontier for my country.
At night, lying awake hearing wind and rain,
Iron horses and frozen rivers enter my dreams.

As they say: when young, one cannot fully grasp Fangweng’s poems—only in middle age do they resonate.

In my view, the author Lin Zhongqi of Rise of the Dynasty is just like the overlooked Fangweng himself—burning with patriotic fervor but unable to realize it in reality. Thus, he pours all his thoughts, emotions, and ambitions into his work. That is why Xu Wangmu brings disaster relief with such zeal, why Xu Wangmu defends the city with his very life!

Dahua in the novel is fortunate—because that world has Xu Wangmu, and because the author ensures Xu Wangmu succeeds, never letting him meet a tragic end.

But in our era?

How many Xu Wangmus do we have who can resist the overwhelming tide of reality?

How many righteous men like Xu Wangmu, brimming with talent but left unrecognized, ended up depressed, and finally died silently in some corner where no one knew of them?!

Were our disaster victims ever rescued?

On our own soil, foreign armies strut about arrogantly—has anyone stood up like Xu Wangmu to resist them, to kill the enemy?

No.

That’s why we had the furious Lin Zhongqi. That’s why we had the novel The Rise of a Dynasty. 

This novel doesn’t use flowery rhetoric, nor does it boast any masterful “tragic artistry.” I’d rather call it a Peach Blossom Spring, a fairy tale.

Because in The Rise of a Dynasty, hot-blooded passion never gets extinguished, sincerity never gets betrayed, the brave always drive away the invaders, and the kind-hearted are always rewarded with a joyful ending.

But does that mean The Rise of a Dynasty is a third-rate novel? No—quite the opposite!

I believe this work has been severely underestimated! Many dismiss it as just a piece of entertainment, unworthy of the grand literary stage, but I say it’s a masterpiece that can be passed down through the ages!

A hundred years from now, people may not know your name or mine, but they will remember the pen name Lin Zhongqi and The Rise of a Dynasty!

Don’t think I’m exaggerating. If you’ve read The Rise of a Dynasty, you’ll know that I speak the truth.

Because The Rise of a Dynasty enlightens! It saves lives! It stirs courage in the hearts of men!

It teaches the common folk how to survive as best as possible in years of natural disaster! More importantly, it carries the spirit of resisting oppression without fear, of daring to fight back!

The day enemy troops surround our cities, when China faces peril, I hope there will be more Xu Wangmus who rise up—even if there’s only one, he must bravely charge against thousands!

……】

Le Jing finished reading this article, his heart stirred with emotion. In fact, Chiyan was right about one thing: The Rise of a Dynasty was his idealized utopia. In it, effort always brings rewards, hot-blooded youth are never betrayed, and the revolution will inevitably succeed in the end.

Not long after the article was published, a letter appeared in the newspaper signed by Wei Chenxi, the township chief of Xiaheshang. It was an impassioned letter of thanks, describing in detail how The Rise of a Dynasty had helped their villagers, calling it a sacred book that could save lives!

That letter was the perfect testimony to Chiyan’s claims! The content was so legendary that curious folk actually went to Xiaheshang to investigate. In the end, they confirmed Wei Chenxi wasn’t exaggerating—many villagers had indeed survived famine thanks to the knowledge in The Rise of a Dynasty!

When these findings hit the papers, it caused another great uproar. Soon, the story was the talk of every street and alley. Even the doorman, Old Zhou, sighed to Le Jing: “If only I’d known those survival tricks earlier, maybe my second boy wouldn’t have starved to death back when we fled the famine.”

The mainstream literary world also seemed to have found the novel’s true value. Their earlier indifference vanished, replaced with fervent discussions about The Rise of a Dynasty!

Le Jing even saw rainbow praise coming from Zheng Yiliang and Zhou Dezhang—leaving him both amused and exasperated.

Thanks to the voices of such big names, the novel quickly gained fame in mainstream literary circles. Just then, the newspaper dropped another bombshell—The Rise of a Dynasty was about to be published!

The moment this news broke, countless readers cheered and eagerly awaited its release.

In Le Jing’s class, the students were abuzz. Many even planned to skip class that day to go buy the book.

“Luo Banxian, come with us, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah! You’re Mr. Lin Zhongqi’s number-one fan!”

“Honestly, I wonder if we’ll get to meet him this time. Le Jing, I bet you’d totally hit it off with him.”

“For sure! Every time, Le Jing can predict the next plot twist in his novels—it’s uncanny!”

Le Jing: … You probably won’t believe me, but I already have a copy of The Rise of a Dynasty. A special author’s edition from the publisher, no less!

Of course, his classmates were just talking casually; none of them would actually dare skip class.

Le Jing soon realized that The Wandering Adventure had begun to influence readers as well—though its impact was still faint, not nearly as explosive as the current phenomenon of The Rise of a Dynasty.

That Friday after class, a group of girls led by Cao Wanying approached Le Jing. “Le Jing, we’re planning to visit a new orphanage this weekend to donate money and supplies to the street children taken in there. Want to come with us?”

Le Jing nodded. “That’s a good cause. I’ll definitely go.”

Hearing his agreement, the girls chattered excitedly: “Even if it’s not much, I hope it’ll keep them from going hungry a few extra times.”

“Yeah, when I saw Da Mao eating slop from a garbage bin, I cried. My little brother’s about his age—he eats meat and pastries every day, and refuses leftovers.”

“I heard this orphanage was founded by the Fu family’s second young master. He was inspired by Mr. Wheatfield’s The Wandering Adventure, and so he funded the place to take in street kids.”

At the mention of that familiar name, Le Jing’s brow twitched. He asked calmly, “You mean someone was inspired by The Wandering Adventure to set up an orphanage for children, and that’s why you girls decided to help too?”

“Yes. Without Mr. Wheatfield opening our eyes, we’d probably still be wasting money on makeup and fashion.” A short-haired girl sighed, shutting her eyes in pain. “I just… I never imagined those filthy street kids were living such lives worse than pigs or dogs.”

Her eyes reddened, and she choked up: “I eat and drink without worry, spend money like water, but I never thought there were children who survived on slop, bark, and grass roots. Before this, I was really a terrible person.”

Cao Wanying comforted her: “Don’t say that. We were simply blinded by wealth. But it’s not too late to change! From today on, we’ll save money for those children’s food and schooling. We’ll help nurture more pillars of China’s future!”

The short-haired girl finally smiled through her tears and nodded firmly.

Le Jing was silent for a while, then asked, “Are there many people like you raising funds for the orphanage?”

Cao Wanying shook her head. “This orphanage is brand-new. My family knows the Fus, so that’s how I learned that Fu Kema, the second young master, set it up. That’s why I invited my girlfriends to visit. If things go well, we’ll spread the word in our own circles.”

Le Jing felt a bit of comfort.

Though it was only the beginning, people were truly being influenced by his work, taking real action.

These not-yet-adult youths were the hope of China’s future. Only those not yet hardened by reality, still filled with kindness, could be so deeply moved by the plight of children—and genuinely try to help them.

Many adults might scoff and call this foolish naivety, but it was a precious purity of heart.

Someone once said, “Youth should be innocent and lively.”

Someone also said, “May China’s youth cast off coldness, always strive upward. Don’t listen to those who despair. Those who can act, act. Those who can speak, speak. Offer your warmth, shine your light—though only a firefly’s glow, it still brightens the darkness. Don’t wait for a torch. If no torch ever comes, then I will be the torch.”

And now, these innocent, lively youths had already begun to shine, to light the way for others.

Since that was the case, he had to visit this orphanage.

To see what flowers had bloomed from the seeds he had planted.

To see what answer Fu Kema had written.

If that answer satisfied him, he would lend his full support.

After all, wasn’t it natural to include the name of an orphanage in The Wandering Adventure? And with The Rise of a Dynasty about to be published, wasn’t it only fitting that the original author slip in a little advertisement in the preface?

Now that Ji Qi was his friend, wouldn’t it also be reasonable to feature the orphanage and street children in a few shots of the upcoming Memoirs of a Courtesan movie?

As long as Fu Kema proved sincere, Le Jing, as the original author, would give him support through every channel possible.

But if Fu Kema was merely using the banner of charity to line his pockets…

Le Jing narrowed his eyes dangerously, his smile carrying a profound meaning.

“Achoo!” Fu Kema rubbed his nose and arms. “Why do I suddenly feel a chill?”

Qi Mingzhi said coolly, “Probably because someone’s thinking about you.”

Fu Kema grinned foolishly. “Heh, I wonder which little beauty it is who likes me so much.”